A Study Overseas
by SherlockianChild
Summary: In a world where pirates roam and dominate the seas and kings and queens solely rule the lands, Great Britain celebrates their prince's 22nd birthday. On the very day of his birthday, Prince John Watson must wed his fiancée Mary Morstan. A peace treaty signed by all, even the pirates themselves. All except for one group of pirates, the Marauders.
1. Chapter 1

In a world where pirates roam and dominate the seas and kings and queens solely rule the lands, Great Britain celebrates their prince's 22nd birthday. On the very day of his birthday, Prince John Watson must wed his fiancée Mary Morstan. The day is supposed to be a day of peace, a treaty signed by all, even the pirates themselves. All except for one group of pirates, the Marauders, the Marauders have different motives for today, none involving peace. A wedding ceremony where every single person will attend in Great Britain? It was the perfect opportunity to set out for an invasion. And that was what they did. But, it was because of that invasion that changed the young prince's life forever.

Chapter One

Celebration

**A/N:**

**This story is set around the 1930s.**

Long ago, a story – not quite old – began the adventure that has been told over and over again. And it took place here, in Great Britain. Ah, all was silent in Great Britain, too quiet. But of course it'd be since the day was the day of peace and tranquility. The queen's son, Prince John Watson was to be wed. He was the sole heir to the almighty throne. On his birthday, John was going to be king.

But all was not quiet. Not the seas. Sure, the currents were gently caressing the shore, and there wasn't any sort of fish in the water, but there came a disturbance faraway. Near the English Channel, swords clashed on a dark ship, reverberating through the air. Two people were clashing: one man, the other female. The woman had long brown hair that was curled up into a ponytail. She was wearing a black vest, a white double breasted long sleeved blouse underneath it. She had black dress pants on with long, black boots that were up to her knees.

The red headed man was shirtless, wearing dark pants and no shoes. He had an eye patch covering his left eye. He held a long, sharp sword in his hand, swinging it towards the woman's torso but missing. The woman had just enough time to dodge the sword, but in doing so, it gave the man the opportunity to drop her sword to the ground.

The woman looked down at the ground, her first mistake. The man scraped her shoulder, grinning evilly at her in victory. The woman instantly brought her free arm to her shoulder, glaring at the man. When he attempts to stab her, the woman ducked, kicking the man's stomach. The kick brought the man to the floor, groaning as he smashed into the floorboards. The woman marched towards her fallen sword, her second mistake, causing the man to swing his legs around hers and bringing her down with him. She landed on her stomach.

In a flash, the man rose from the ground, sword pointing against the woman's chest. A menacing smirk tugged against his lips. He stared down the woman, tilting his head to the side. "Any last words?" he asked her.

The woman glared at the man, refusing to say a single word to him. Show no fear, she kept telling herself over and over again.

"Yes, I do, actually," a second voice boomed from the ship "What in the hell are you doing on _my_ ship!"

The man turned his head in various directions, keeping his grip firm on his sword. He tried to see where the sound had come from. "Where you are you coward?" he beckoned. "Show yourself!"

The sound of a sword cutting away at something pierced through the skies. In a blink of an eye, a man came swooping down on a rope. Before the red headed man could react, the second man smashed – feet first – against the man's torso, knocking him out of the ship and falling overboard. The raven haired man landed on his feet, letting go of the rope. He kept on opening and closing both of his hands from the burn marks he had just received. He looked down at the woman, offering a faint smile.

"Molly, are you all right?" he asked her.

Molly beamed at him, smiling quickly. She rose to her feet, picking up her sword and sliding it in her sheath. "I'm fine now, captain, thank you," she answered, patting away any dust or dirt off of her pants. "There should be another –"

"Philip!" cried a voice, running towards the edge of the ship where the man had been knocked over. This man looked exactly like Philip, so they must've been related. "What have you done to him?" he barked at the two.

The raven haired man raised a brow, crossing his arms at him. "I merely knocked him overboard," he replied nonchalantly.

The man marched towards the captain, pulling out his sword at him. Molly immediately removed her sword, pointing it at the man.

"Not one more step!" she warned.

"Molly, everything's fine, let me handle him," the captain replied, holding out his hand to stop Molly. "You trespassed onto my ship, _my_ ship, and you dare pull a sword at me! You know the rules clearly, that is if you were a pirate."

"I am a pirate!" the man snapped back.

"Oh, no you're not. Clearly, you're no pirate. You're an amateur, a beginner. You and your brother are raiding ships, stealing gold and treasure," the captain explained. A smile appeared on his lips, as if he finally understood something. "Ah, so that's you. You're both the Night Raiders! Though you two are going bolder, stealing and taking loot in the morning? You know, it probably would've worked if you two were on a different ship. But that was your first mistake, deciding to steal from _this_ ship."

The red headed man stared at the man in surprised. He even lowered his sword out of shock. "How –?"

"No, don't ask me how. I don't have time for idiots. And I have some plans to look after to," the captain replied, dismissively. "No, if that's what you're thinking, I'm not going to kill you. But you're both not going without some sort of punishment. It is the rules after all."

"Who-who the bloody hell are you?" the man spat, cowering from the taller man. He slowly edged his way backwards until he touched the edge of the ship. There was no way out of this unless he jumped. But he wouldn't, that wasn't the way to do it. Jumping would taint their legacy.

The captain stopped advancing towards the man. A wide grin spread across his face as if he was asked for marriage. The captain needed to trim his hair since his curly mops for a hair barely touched his eyes. As for his eyes, they were multi-changing. At a glance, they'd appear green, but after staring for a while, they'd appear blue or gray. The captain didn't look much of a threat, not at all. What made him looked menacing was how tall and gaunt he was. The intensity coming off from his eyes were too unbearable to look at.

"Well, I'm glad you asked," he answered. "The name's Sherlock Holmes."

The red headed man gripped onto the boat at having heard the name. His complexion had paled, and he began to look less threatening by the second. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the man. "You-you're Sherlock Holmes?" he sputtered.

"The very," he replied.

"And-and then, th-this is the –"

"Yes, yes, it is. This is my ship, the Marauder. Welcome aboard to hell, mate," he said. Sherlock, without glancing down, pulled out his sword from his sheath. "Now, either you fight or you die."

"But you said – you said – that I wouldn't –"

"Oh, I guess I wasn't clear on that. _Death_ is your punishment. Fight for your life and you'll possibly survive or die," Sherlock replied, smirking.

The man looked at Sherlock, trembling and looking deeply pathetic. He grabbed his sword, seeing no way out of this. He had to do it; he had to play this man's game. The man charged forwards, sword in hand. Both of their swords clashed.

Two foils clashed into each other, making scraping noises each time they smacked each other. Two people were fighting: a man and a woman. But this wasn't a duel to the deaths, no. This was just a challenge, a match. The man had sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He was grinning at the woman as he smoothly diverted his torso away from the woman's reach. The woman, on the other hand, had straw-like hair and brown eyes. She was much smaller than the man, yet they had similar features. Relatives.

"Aha!" said the man. "Any moment now, Harry, and you're going to slip up."

"Oh, don't get so cocky, John. You'll never know if I have some tricks up my sleeves," she replied, poking John's arm.

"Hey! You're not supposed to do that," he countered, moving away from her. "Torso only, you cheat," he replied.

"Well, if we were actually fighting, you'd die," she protested, smirking at him.

"You're the one to say," John replied, laughing as he blocked with his sword.

"Second born, second best," Harry answered.

"Ouch," John said, shaking his head at her.

Harry noticed John had made his left side vulnerable and launched forward. But John was too quick, jabbing Harry's lower torso. Harry gasped, dropping her foil in defeat.

"Not quite sure if that's correct now," John answered.

"I stand corrected," Harry replied, offering John a kind smile. "Though I think you cheated."

"Harry! I clearly won, without _cheating_ if I might add," John said.

Harry chuckled, shaking her head slowly. "All right, all right, you won," Harry admitted, nudging John's arm gently.

Suddenly, the doors burst opened and an older woman strode her way towards them. "There you two are!" she said. "I have been looking everywhere for you two." The woman had light brown hair. Her curls were closer to her head, hair looking wavy. The woman was wearing a bias-cut Augustabernard satin gown. She had pearl earrings to match with the gown. But what stood out was lying against her neck, a necklace, a dangling red gem.

Instantly, John and Harry became quiet, looking at the woman with silent terror. John looked at Harry and she did the same. John finally turned his attention back to the woman and exhaled.

"I-I'm sorry, Queen Ebony," John murmured softly, bowing down.

"Oh, John, enough of that now. You shouldn't be bowing down to me. You are going to be king today," she answered, offering him a kind smile.

John straightened himself once more, smiling at Ebony. "Thank –"

"But how could you two forget what day it is? John today is your coronation and your wedding! We have so much to do today, and we can't do much with you lollygagging. Now, come on, I need to have a serious word with you," she replied, offering her hand to John.

John nodded his head quickly, taking the queen's hand. The queen smiled gently at John, rubbing circles on his hand.

"And you, I'm thoroughly disappointed in you, Harriet. You know better than to fight! It is not a proper way for a lady to act. And are you not wearing your girdle? Go on and get properly dressed!" she scolded, glaring at Harry.

Harry was taken aback before she glared at Ebony. "Yes, Her Majesty. On my way," she growled back, marching towards the door and abandoning the two.

John frowned, looking up at the queen. "Must you be so harsh on her?" he asked softly. "It was my fault, I asked her to join me."

"John, you need not make any excuses for her neglected properness. She needs to learn her place, whether she likes it or not," Ebony replied. "Come now, John, let's take a walk."

John nodded his head silently, following Her Majesty out the door. They walked out and were walking the halls. John's smiled as he saw the architecture and the paintings. A bold and terrific history which they told, John couldn't be any more proud than to be a royal. But deep inside, he couldn't help but feel like a traitor. Why? He shouldn't be feeling this way, but he has and always has been.

"John," Ebony spoke at last, "you're going to be king in a few hours now. You'll be ruling all these people. And as their ruler, they are depending on you to lead them on the correct path."

"Yes, yes, I know already. Why are you telling me this?" he asked her. "I thought I still had you by my side even when I'm king."

"And you will, my child," she replied.

"But, the thing I don't understand is why am I becoming king at this age, now? Why on my birthday?" John questioned.

"John!" Ebony said, raising her voice sharply. John immediately fell silent, clasping his mouth shut. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you. If I am giving you something, it'd be best for you to accept it graciously," she replied.

John heard the way her voice tensed as she spoke, danger filling the air. This wasn't the first time he's experienced this. He hated the feeling as if she was internally attacking him and bending him to her will. He exhaled shakily, nodding his head. "I understand, Queen Ebony, I'm sorry I ever casted doubt," he answered.

In an instant, the tension had lifted. John was able to breathe normally again. Ebony looked at John, giving him that same kind smile again. She was acting as if it had never happened. "Thank you, John."

Once more, the doors burst opened and a pudgy man came inside. "John! Oh, there you are, son!" he exclaimed. "Come on, John, I have to get you fitted. We don't want you to arrive wearing anything falling off of you," he replied jokingly.

John turned to look at Ebony, who nodded in agreement. John returned to glance at the man, smiling at him. "All right, Mike, let's go. Show me the way," he answered.

Mike grasped John's arm, tugging him along.

Sherlock was looking over his crew members, each standing in a straight vertical line. He inspected them to make sure none of them were seriously injured. He couldn't help but chuckle and be giddy from excitement. Once he was done inspecting them, he waved his hand dismissively.

"Oi! Done smiling now, _captain_?" a woman said in a mocking voice. The woman had black hair and complexion. She was wearing a white blouse and a dark skirt.

Sherlock didn't need to turn around to know who it was. He exhaled, clearly annoyed. "Don't start with me, Sally," he warned.

"No, I am going to start with you. I told you myself to move the ship to a different location, but you didn't listen," she snapped back, poking at his chest accusingly. "And look what happened! We –"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, clearly not in the mood to hear her. "Yes, Sally, let's have a look at what just happened! We were invaded and Molly, Lestrade, and I handled the situation perfectly while you and Anderson were –"

"Okay, that's enough!" a man said with brown hair that was dulling to gray.

"Lestrade!" Sally protested. "Have you seen what this man is doing to this crew? He's dangerous. If he keeps up his recklessness, we'll wind up like George!"

"George's death was my fault?" Sherlock questioned. "He died for his captain, not my fault."

"How can you stand there and say that, you heartless freak?! He died saving you!" she cried out.

"From _you_," Sherlock said gravely, eyeing her angrily.

Sally opened her mouth to protest, but she quickly decided against it. She looked down at the ground, crossing her arms.

Lestrade intervened, placing himself in between the two. "We don't have time for fights, today," Lestrade replied. "Sherlock, you need to sign a document Her Majesty has sent you."

Sherlock stopped glaring at Sally and turned his attention to Lestrade. "What document? Let me read it," he demanded, holding his hand out.

Lestrade sighed silently and handed Sherlock a letter. Sherlock took hold of the envelope, ripping it with a dagger. He took the letter out, tossing the envelope to the ground as if it was never in his hand. Sherlock scanned the letter, eyes moving swiftly. He groaned angrily.

"What? What does it say?" Lestrade asked, peering over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Dear Marauders – they spelled Marauder wrong," Sherlock began. "As you may know, on the seventh of July, it will be Prince John Watson's birthday. Yada, yada, I don't care, peace and tranquility, none of my concern. Oh! We are hereby making the seventh of July a day of peace. All pirates are not to disturb the prince's coronation and wedding in exchange for pirates to roam among our lands without concern of death," Sherlock continued. "If you are willing to agree to these conditions, please sign the document, and you and your crew are able to walk freely, so long as you bring the document as proof. If you, _Sherlock_, so much as disturb, you and your crew will be executed," Sherlock finished, looking content.

He sighed happily, looking at his crew with glee. A woman with brown hair and green eyes dared to move and marched up to her captain. "Well, sir?" she asked.

"What, Clara?" he asked, staring at Clara.

"Aren't you going to sign it?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Why would I sign such a thing?" Sherlock questioned. "Wait, you really want to go on _land_?" He looked at her as if she had gone insane.

"Not just me, captain, we all do," she answered.

Sherlock blinked blankly at his crew, seeing the truth in their eyes. He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Why do you all want to go in the one place where everybody hates us? Sentiment, I should've known," he mumbled angrily. "You're all naïve. Even if I do sign this ridiculous document, do you honestly think there's anything stopping them from hunting us? And do you think there's anything stopping us if there's a celebration or a contract? No! These people don't care about us. They just want us out of their way. They've always wanted that. All they want are us dead, they left us for dead. That's how this all came about," Sherlock explained, flailing his arms.

A second man with long, black hair looked up at Sherlock, shaking his head at him. "You're insane," he said.

"Anderson, get your facts straight," Sherlock snapped back at him.

"Listen, if they are serious about peace, then why didn't they even invite us pirates, isn't that rude? Isn't today of peace? I see no peace!" he replied. In a grave tone, Sherlock said, "I say we go to that wedding. Hey, it'll be fun."

The crew watched Sherlock in horror. Who knew what their captain had in plan? Whatever it was, they knew one thing, and it wasn't good.

John was standing on a circular platform. A male tailor was securing the sash on John's back, tying it. John kept on wincing as the tailor kept on tightening the sash on John. He scrunched up one eye, groaning. John looked over at Mike, who looked like he was going to burst into laughter.

"Go on, now! Laugh, I dare you!" John barked at him.

Mike began to laugh, unable to contain it no longer. He clutched at his sides, throwing his head back. "I-I'm sorry, Prince John," he said through breaths, wiping his eyes from the tears. "It's that – you're wearing a dress –"

"Kimono!" snapped back the tailor. "Not a dress."

"Oh, it's a dress, admit it," John replied, laughing.

"Stop moving, John," warned the tailor.

John obeyed and stopped moving. He sighed silently, finding it hard to breathe by the kimono. When he was done being fitted, he made his way down the platform, wobbling as he did so. Mike was laughing once more.

"Shut up," John mumbled in embarrassment. "Thank god, Mary won't be seeing me in this," he confessed.

"Come on, John, take a seat," Mike said, patting the empty seat next to him.

John obeyed, bending down. He groaned when he found it hard to bend down. Mike resumed laughing once more, while John continued to lower himself inch by inch.

"It's too tight!" John protested as he sat down.

"Oh," said John's tailor. "The necklace, it needs to go." The tailor leaned towards John's neck, grasping the chain. But before he could move any further, John grabbed the tailor's hand, squeezing it with much force.

"This stays on my neck or I'll cut your hands for trying to pry it off!" he warned dangerously.

The tailor instantly let go of John's necklace, taking a few steps back.

"No, I'm sorry!" John replied, realizing what he had done. "It's that – my real mother, she gave me this necklace. It's all I have left of her."

The tailor's face softened and he nodded his head silently. After a few moments, he answered, "It's all right, I understand."

Soon, the door swung opened and in came Harry, looking giddy. The moment she laid eyes on John, she burst into laughter. "J-John! You look so ridiculous!" she exclaimed, laughing.

"I can't breathe!" John protested.

"Good, now you know how women feel when they wear girdles," she teased, sitting beside John.

"You don't even wear girdles," John countered, smiling at his sister.

"Exactly," she replied, smirking. "But don't go telling _Her Majesty_ or she'll surely scold me."

"Oh, come on, now," he told Harry. "Queen Ebony isn't mean. She's a kind and fair woman."

"John, to you, yes, but that's because you're the special child. After all, you're the one with the gift –"

"Hush now, Harry," John said, casting wearily glances at Mike and the tailor. "This is not the place to talk about such thing."

The door opened gently and in came Ebony, casting a wide grin at John. John smiled at her, instantly rising to his feet despite the fact that he couldn't breathe in this. Mike, Harry, and the tailor all left when she nodded her head at them. She waited until the door had closed behind them before she turned her attention to John.

"Queen Ebony," he said. "Can you explain to me again why I have to wear this?" he asked, looking for some council.

Ebony smiled sweetly at John, chuckling softly. She held John's shoulders, saying, "John, we have to make peace with Japan. Japan is rapidly becoming a strong country, and we'll need Japan to be on our side. That is why you have to wear the kimono out of respect, John." She gave him a faint smile. "And plus, you aren't going to be wearing this for the wedding," she finished.

John smiled brightly, nodding his head in understanding. "But, why am I wearing white? Aren't there some better colors than just white?" he asked, looking down at himself.

"John, white means purity to the Japanese," she explained.

"Meaning?" he questioned, raising a brow at her.

"Virgin."

"Oh! So, in Japan, different colors have different meanings?" he asked.

"It's not like that, John," she replied, chuckling softly. "Now, I must go."

"Your Majesty?" he called to her.

"Yes, John? What is it, child?" she asked him.

"May I speak with Mary? I need to tell her something important," he answered.

She sighed silently, "John, I can't. It's against the rules, love. You know very well it's strictly prohibited to see her right now."

"I know, but I need to tell her something. It'll be less than a minute! I promise," he replied.

"I'm sorry, John, but I won't allow it. You can talk to her at the altar," she said, walking out the door.

John was walking around the palace, admiring the views. He always liked taking a stroll around the palace. There was so much to see. He found himself near a painted window. He stopped and touched it, marveling at its features. He smiled, "Fantastic."

This would soon be his, he thought. But…he couldn't rule all of this. How did Her Majesty expect him to lead thousands, probably millions of people in his empire? But why him? Why now? Her Majesty was only twice his age. She could still rule the empire. John continued to walk, finding it difficult. He soon became annoyed at the pace he was walking. God, he needed to get out of this dress!

Sherlock was ordering his crew about, telling them to man the decks, clean this, clean that, ready the sails, and remove the anchor. They needed to set sail. None dare go against their captain's orders in fear of death. Even with his crazed plan he was forcing them to go along with.

"We're landing near Canterbury," he announced as he grasped the wheel. He turned it to the left, watching the water in amazement. "Then we're making our way to London."

Sherlock called Dimmock and told him to take over the wheel. Sherlock patted him on the back briefly, as if he were a dog, and made his way to his study, which happened to be his room. Sherlock closed the door behind him, chuckling as he prepared himself. He marched towards a chest, opening it to reveal pistols and ammunition. He placed them in his holster, which was near his waist.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door, causing Sherlock to groan in frustration. If this was Donovan, he was going to slam the door so hard on her face. "Come in!" he muttered.

The door opened slowly and in came Lestrade. Soon, Sherlock's face lightened up and he smiled. "Come in, come in, close the door behind you," he ordered casually, as he returned to his chest.

"Sherlock, I want to know why we're doing this," Lestrade mumbled softly.

"I should've known you were going to ask," Sherlock replied. "You're still an officer by heart. But, Lestrade, all the wealthiest people will be attending. And most likely, they'd have bought lavish gifts to the future king that he won't need."

Lestrade rubbed the back of his head, exhaling deeply. "I left for a reason, Sherlock. But, that's a really risky move, Sherlock. If you get caught, you'll die," he answered.

"I couldn't care less in all honesty, Lestrade," Sherlock replied, staring at him.

Lestrade glanced at Sherlock, trying to analyze him. "Sherlock, you're not interested in the loot," he said. "It's never been about the gold or treasure for you, it's always been about the thrill."

A small smirked dared to tug on Sherlock's lips. "Oh, Lestrade, how well you know me," he answered.

"It's not me, Sherlock. It's Sally who's always going on about this," he replied.

Sherlock's smug look disappeared instantly upon hearing her name. "Don't speak of her name here."

Lestrade rolled his eyes at Sherlock. "Sherlock, if you hate her so much, then why do you still have her around if she's such a hassle?" he asked.

"She's in my debt, which is why I still have her. She's useful to me in a way," he answered.

John was in a room with three Japanese people and Queen Ebony. The Japanese had a translator with them that spoke both the languages. John's smiling at them, trying to make polite conversation with them. He knew how important this was to Ebony, and he didn't want to be the one to mess it up. The Japanese seemed to like John. At last, they came to the conclusion to agree to be allies with Britain.

Suddenly, screams were heard. John and Her Majesty stopped talking and looked at the door before they glanced at each other. Immediately, someone pounded on the door with great force, furiously. One of the servants eventually opened the door to reveal Mike Stamford, injured. He clutched at his side as he staggered inside.

John rushed to Mike's side, grabbing his shoulders. "Mike, Mike, look at me! What's going on? Who did this to you?" he demanded.

Mike looked at John weakly, giving him a faint smile. "The Marauders, John, it was the Marauders and they're here. They're taking and grabbing everything they see in sight."

Queen Ebony groaned in frustration and glared at Mike. "How did they slip past here so easily?" she cried.

"They – they signed the letter, Your Majesty," he stammered weakly.

"John, go help the Japanese through the secret exit. Take Mike with you. I need to go and take care of some things," she explained.

John hesitated but he agreed. He marched towards the fireplace, pulling down a candle, which happened to be a latch. Once that was done, a secret exit was revealed.

"Come on, let's go," he answered.

John helped Mike inside, the Japanese following behind them. The translator offered to help Mike, seeing it improper for the king to do it. John agreed. He looked back at the door they had just left. He heard more screams in the distant. John winced, closing his eyes. Should he stay and help the Japanese or should he save the people whose lives were in danger?

As if his question was answered, john heard it. He heard a familiar scream, a familiar voice, a woman's shriek. "Mary!" he yelled. He looked at the translator. "Mike's going to tell you how to get out of here. He knows the way. Listen to him, okay?" John demanded.

The translator nodded, telling the Japanese what he had just been told. John made his way out of the exit, slamming the fireplace closed.

John ran out the door, towards Mary's room. He burst through the door, and he saw it. He had always heard myths and legends about them. But he had never seen one in person. It was a pirate. The pirate had long black hair. He was trying to pry off Mary's crown from her head.

John pulled out a sword he had hidden within the sleeves from his kimono. The pirate noticed the sword and instantly let go of Mary, pulling out his own sword. John immediately lounged forward but Anderson blocked it with his sword. Swords scream out as they clash with one another. At one point, Anderson sliced the bottom of John's kimono. They both looked down to see if any damage had been done.

Immediately, John smirked. "Thank you, now I can properly defeat you," he teased, swinging his sword across Anderson's stomach. He narrowly missed by a few centimeters. Anderson groaned angrily, blocking as best as he could. He then began advancing forward, trying to force John out the room. And it worked. They both slammed against the stair rail. John kicked Anderson in the stomach, forcing him on the ground. John kicks the sword from Anderson's hands, slashing Anderson's stomach this time.

Sherlock was fighting with two guards below the stair rail, laughing as they kept on missing him miserably. "Is that the best you can do? If I had known better, I would've done this a long time ago!"

Sherlock dodged one of the guards' attacks, grasping the second guard's hands and forcing him in front of him. The first guard stabbed the second guard in the chest. Out of the guard's horror, Sherlock used the opportunity, to jam his blade against the guard, killing him quickly. He ran off once they were both dead. When he turned a corner, he bumped into the queen.

"Her Majesty!" Sherlock exclaimed, bowing down low while smirking.

The queen screamed out in frustration, cursing his name. She pulled out a gun she had, but Sherlock used the hilt of his sword to knock it from her grasp. Sherlock's eyes stared at the queen's neck, unable to take his eyes off from the gem. He raised his brow, smirking. With a quick snip from his sword, he grabbed the gem and ran out with it.

"Fallback! Retreat!" Sherlock called out, running out the doors of the palace.

The queen touched her bare neck, screaming out in horror. "Give it back, you treacherous thief!" she cried. "GIVE IT BACK!"

John had his arms all over Mary, inspecting to see if she was okay or hurt. "Mary, are you all right?" he asked.

"I-I'm fine, John. Now that you're here, I'm fine," she sputtered.

John grabbed Mary's hand and told her to follow him. John walked out the door, clutching onto Mary's hand tightly. Mary noticed Anderson, the fallen pirate, and realized he was still alive, badly injured but alive.

"John," she said softly. "We have to help him."

John glanced back at Anderson, who was clutching his stomach weakly. "What? Mary, he was going to hurt you!"

Mary knitted her brows together and forced John towards Anderson. She removed herself from John's grasp and approached Anderson. Before Mary could say anything, Anderson snatched her and held a knife to her neck.

John held his sword out but was quickly attacked from behind, falling to the ground. It was none other than Donovan and Lestrade.

"Are you all right?" Donovan asked Anderson.

Anderson quickly let go of Mary, who cowered backwards in fear. He shook his head weakly.

"Please – please, I'll do anything! Anything you want! Just don't kill me!" she begged pathetically.

Soon, Donovan got angry and forced Mary into unconsciousness. She smirked smugly, looking at Lestrade, who was stunned. "What? I always wanted to hurt a royal," she giggled. "Now, come on. Let's help Anderson."

Lestrade and Sally both helped Anderson to his feet, each having his arms on their shoulders. They began to talk down the stairs until Anderson stopped them.

"Wait! I want _him_!" he spat, glancing at John who was unconscious. "I want to kill that filthy bastard for injuring me!"

"But –" Lestrade began.

"Shall I remind you of the rules?" Anderson muttered angrily.

Sally cast a glance at Lestrade and nodded her head hesitantly. Lestrade groaned softly, letting go of Anderson. He walked towards John. He picked John up and placed him on his back.

Sherlock and the rest of the crew had made it on board, all panting and regaining their breaths from the excitement. All but Sherlock, who merely laughed and jumped around excitedly. "This was fun, wasn't it?" he asked.

Molly just stared at him, hands on her knees. She shook her head at him silently.

Sherlock pulled the gem out from his pocket, marveling at its beauty. "Okay, ready the ship, we need to start leaving now," he said.

"We can't!" Dimmock replied. "Sally, Anderson, and Lestrade still aren't here."

This caused Sherlock some disgruntle. He counted his crewmates, and sure enough, three people were missing. Damn it! He cursed silently. He would've left Anderson and Donovan behind in a heartbeat, but Lestrade, Lestrade he couldn't leave behind. He needed Lestrade.

Finally, Sherlock noticed them in a Ford T Model, speeding their way here, them and along with the rest of the guards. Sherlock groaned angrily, rubbing his head in frustration. Those idiots! He rolled his eyes. "Prepare the ship, _now_! Remove the anchor!" he ordered.

Sherlock marched towards the edge of the boat, pulling out a ladder and rolling it down the side of the ship for the three to climb aboard.

At a sudden bump, John jerked awake. He heard shouts and yells coming from behind him. He looked up, realizing he was in a car. He looked out the window and saw the guards. Once they saw him, the called out to him. John's eyes widened from surprised and realized what was happening. He began kicking and screaming but he was bounded, which Lestrade had done.

Lestrade was beside John. He sighed in confliction and rubbed his head. "Stop squirming, prince," he said. "It won't do you much good with trying to free yourself. I made sure of that."

John blinked blankly at Lestrade before he returned to kicking and screaming, begging for his release. He wanted to be free.

Sally continued to drive the car faster, trying to get away from the guards. Finally, they drove right into the English Channel, bracing for impact. The car started to slowly sink. Sally pulled open the roof and helped Anderson out of the car. They quickly made their way to the moving boat.

John was still thrashing his body wildly until Lestrade pinned his arms, on top of John. John tried to free himself from his clutches but it wasn't much use. "What're you going to do?" he stammered, looking up at Lestrade in fear.

"Listen, and you listen to me well," he began. "We are going to drown if you don't stop squirming. So, let me help you out of this car, you got it?" he demanded.

John gulped down dryly, nodding his head fervently. Lestrade unclenched John's hands. When he noticed John wasn't resisting anymore, he grabbed John, placing him on his back once more. Once they were out of the car and into the channel, Lestrade began to swim towards the boat. John watched in horror as the guards stopped perusing them from the shore. All remaining hope he had diminishing.

Anderson and Donovan were already on the boat, hacking and panting heavily. Anderson was cowering in pain. Sherlock rolled his eyes at them, not really caring for their safety. He scanned the ocean, trying to find some sign of Lestrade.

Lestrade was freezing. The ocean was cold and having extra weight on him didn't make anything better. When he finally made it to the ladder, he began shivering as the damning wind blew towards their directions. "Please," Lestrade begged, "don't move!" John didn't need to be told that. He held onto Lestrade tightly in fear of falling into the ocean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Introduction**

**A/N:**

The story setting is taking place around the 1930s. Some of you were confused about that and I apologize.

I would like to apologize for my grammar and verb tenses. I will always have problems with verb tenses. And since my editor was unresponsive, I just had to triple check my writing.

**So, I've been asked, both on tumblr and on here, about some of the rules of conduct – for pirates – which I've mentioned throughout the story. I will be explaining some of the rules, but here are some of the rule(s) that won't, probably, be mentioned from the previous chapter.**

**Okay, in the beginning, when Sherlock is talking to the redheaded pirate, he tells him if he were a pirate, he'd have known about the rules.  
Sherlock was talking about the eighth rule of conduct. **

VIII. No striking one another on board, but every man's quarrels to be ended on shore, at sword and pistol. (The quarter-master of the ship, when the parties will not come to any reconciliation, accompanies them on shore with what assistance he thinks proper, and turns the disputant back to back, at so many paces distance; at the word of command, they turn and fire immediately, (or else the piece is knocked out of their hands). If both miss, they come to their cutlasses, and then he is declared the victor who draws the first blood.)

The doors slammed open. In came Ebony, looking pale stricken. She stalked up the stairs to the palace, looking for John. Her pace began to quicken as she turned towards the exit of the secret exit. She removed a huge painting, dumping it on the ground as if it were worthless. What revealed underneath the painting was a door. She grabbed a key, turning it. She pushed open the door, eyes scanning at the crowd.

The Japanese cowered as the door opened. But they quickly relaxed when they noticed it was just Her Majesty. The translator demanded to know what was going on, but Ebony pushed her way through them, seeing a familiar figure. She rushed towards Mike, gripping his shoulders.

"Mike," she said in a dangerous tone, "where's John?" Her grip on Mike tightened on his shoulders, causing him to wince slightly.

Mike looked down at his injury, whimpering only slightly.

"MIKE!" screamed Ebony. "Where's John? Tell. Me."

Mike gazed at her in horror, as he looked into her eyes. He saw nothing but coldness and hatred. Absolute hatred. "Eb – Queen Ebony, John, he – ugh – he ran off to aid Duchess Morstan. He should be with her," Mike explained.

Ebony loosened her grip on Mike's shoulders, smacking him across the face. A stinging red handprint stuck on his face. "Idiot," she muttered, walking away from them, closing the door behind her.

Ebony grabbed the ends of her dress, holding them so she wouldn't trip as she ran. She made her way up the stairs, looking for Mary's room. Her heart was fluttering in her rib cage as she reached the top of the stairs. The first thing she noticed was Mary – face down – sprawled over the floor.

Ebony exhaled shakily, quickly walking up to her. Ebony bent down and kneeled beside her. She turned Mary around so that her face was facing Ebony's. She gently shook her awake. Mary groaned softly, opening her eyes.

"Mary, are you all right?" she asked gently, caressing her face.

Mary looked up at Ebony silently, nodding her head. Instantly, her eyes widened and she sat up straight. "John! Where's John?" she cried out, looking at Ebony. "Please, tell me you've saved him!"

Ebony gazed at Mary, silent terror replacing her calm expression. She stared into Mary's eyes. "Mary, love, what are you talking about? Save him from whom?" she asked.

"Oh, god, no. Oh, my, it's my entire fault!" she exclaimed, tears streaming down her face. She covered her face with her hands, knees pressed against her chest.

"Mary!" Ebony said, raising her voice only slightly. "Mary, honey, I need you to tell me what happened."

Mary nodded as she tried to stifle her sobs. After a few short breaths, Mary turned to look at Ebony. "A pir-pirate barged into my room. He-he tried to take the crown off me. J-John must've heard me because he came in my room afterwards. J-John an-and the pirate began fighting. They left my room and John w-won. B-but I wanted to h-help the pirate be-c-cause he was injured.

"He-he grabbed me and threatened to kill me. J-John was knocked unconscious by a female pirate. After that, I-I don't know what happened. She-she knocked me out as well. I-I think they took him, Your Majesty. I think they took my Johnny!" Mary explained, sobbing as she finished her side of the story.

Ebony's grip on Mary was tensed and firm. She loosened her grip, rising to her feet. Her expression was blank and emotionless. She walked away from Mary, who looked up at her in wonder.

"E-Ebony?" she whispered hoarsely.

Ebony raised a hand in the air, as if shushing her. She ignored Mary, strolling down the stairs. She walked down a hallway until she made it to a gilded door. She opened the door silently, making her way into the room. She slammed the door behind her sound reverberating throughout the room.

She screamed out in frustration, marching up to her dresser and knocking it onto the ground after using much force. She grabbed frames and cups, smashing them against the walls. She stumped her feet on the ground, practically jumping up and down. Her cheeks were flushed from anger. Her irises seemed bloodshot, almost looking crimson. She collapsed onto her bed, lying on her stomach. Her hair was disheveled, some curls covering her face. She panted heavily.

"This," she murmured in between breaths, "is war, Mr. Holmes."

A thudding sound thundered throughout the sky. Splashing water had made its way on the floorboards as if it were raining. Immediately, a swarm of people rushed towards the noise, grasping anything they could.

The lean captain stood where he was, wondering if it was Lestrade. Sherlock tried to show no sign of content on his face. He was relieved that Lestrade was safe, well, if it was Lestrade. He keened his ears to listen.

"Lestrade! Lestrade, are you all right?" asked Donovan.

"'m fine," came a voice.

Sherlock exhaled, repressing a grin. He walked back to his study, looking for the first-aid kit. He rummaged throughout his stuff, knocking some things over to find it.

Being knocked onto the ship with tremendous force blurred John's vision. He was lying on his stomach, finding it hard to breathe. He groaned softly as he opened his eyes after blinking a few times. John winced slightly as he tried to move. Lestrade was on top of him.

He noticed the swarm of pirates surround them, making it impossible for John to escape now. John trembled out of cold as he realized he was drenched wet. Lestrade finally moved off of him, staggering to his feet. He looked for Sherlock among the crowd, but was unable to find him. He needed to tell Sherlock what was going to occur if he wouldn't intervene.

But the moment Lestrade made his way through the crowd; he heard a piercing, shrieking sound. He stopped walking, looking back at the crowd around John. Hands were on John restraining him, which was stupid since he was already bounded. Lestrade looked in horror, snapping back to his mission.

John looked up at the crowd, teeth clattering from the ocean. John rested on his knees, hands near his chest. He then saw the man he had injured. Oh, god, he didn't look happy. Of course he wouldn't! That's when the man pushed his way through the crowd. He stopped in front of John, staring down at him with a menacing smile.

Within a flash, he grasped John's hair, pulling it tightly upwards, causing John to force himself upwards. John hadn't intended for it to happen, but it did. A shriek had escaped his lips, causing the crowd to snigger. This is funny to them?! Watching him in pain?

John stared into the man's eyes, repressing the urge for the tears pricking at the ends of his eyes to come out further. He wasn't going to give him any satisfaction, no, not in that way. "Let me go!" John exclaimed, dangerously.

But all John received was a blow to the cheek, toppling on his side. John groaned as he tried to rub his face in futile. He glared at the man angrily. Don't cry, he thought over and over again. That's exactly what he wants.

"You shouldn't be ordering me around. Oh no, you can't order me around, not here, not anymore, _prince_!" Anderson barked, laughing like an idiot at John's pain. That felt good, really good. "I have every right to touch you."

John forced himself on his knees again, wobbling as he did so. He stared Anderson down. "And what right is that? If you so much as lay another finger on me –"

Another blow, this time to the stomach. John groaned as he slumped forward, clutching at his stomach.

"Shut up! Do not interrupt me!" Anderson muttered. He pulled John's hair again, causing another groan escape John's mouth. "Right here, you have no power. Welcome to the pirates realm, Prince Watson."

John stared at Anderson, repressing the urge to tremble. No, if he was going to tremble, it was going to be out of cold! He had always heard and read tales of pirates. But… this was absolutely nothing compared to what he read.

Lestrade opened the door to Sherlock's study, wincing every time he heard John's muffled screams. He closed the door behind him, breathing heavily as the door blocked out the screams. He exhaled. "Sherlock!" he called out, raising his voice. He furrowed his brows as he noticed the mess in the study. "Sherlock! Where the hell are you?"

Sherlock was hidden among the pile of clothes and maps he had thrown. He emerged from the pile, looking at Lestrade. He smiled faintly. "Lestrade, are you all right?" he asked, walking towards him.

"Yes, I'm all right. I'm fine, I'm safe!" Lestrade said quickly, he marched towards Sherlock. "But that's not important now! We've got ourselves a prisoner!"

"Oh! Yes, I haven't had a prisoner in a while. Who is it?" Sherlock questioned, looking absolutely giddy.

"Stop it now, Sherlock! I'm serious. We've got to stop Anderson from killing him!" Lestrade exclaimed, hope diminishing by the second.

"Watch your tone with me!" Sherlock snapped back, crossing his arms at Lestrade. "Now, calmly and patiently tell me who exactly we have to save."

Lestrade had his mouth agape in disbelief. But he knew Sherlock better than anybody else. The best way to have Sherlock on his side is if he does what he's told. "Sherlock, we have to save him, Prince John. He's going to die because of Anderson," Lestrade explained silently.

Sherlock snorted, rolling his eyes. "I've never seen a royal die before –"

"Okay, that's it! I'm not going to play by your rules anymore, you cold-hearted –

"Cold hearted what?" Sherlock questioned, raising his voice.

"Damn it, Sherlock! For once, can you make something not about you? He's going to die!" Lestrade replied.

"And why should I care? This is none of my concern," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, if he dies, do you have any idea what will happen to us by Her Majesty? She'll hunt us down and kill us off for sure! He's the sole heir of the throne!" Lestrade explained, knowing they were wasting valuable time. Who knows what they were doing to John in the moment. "_Please_, Sherlock!"

Sherlock stared at Lestrade, arms crossed over his chest. He huffed. "There has to be a reason Anderson wants to murder John. _Why_?" Sherlock questioned.

Lestrade averted his gaze from Sherlock's, biting his lower lip. If he told him, Sherlock would never help him then. _The rules_, Lestrade's mind kept on telling him.

"Well, guess we'll find out afterwards," Sherlock said coldly, walking past Lestrade. He opened the door, closing it behind him.

Lestrade's eyes widened, trembling as the door slammed behind him. Silent tears began to caress his face as he closed his eyes, clearly ashamed for not being able to help John. He clenched his fists. No! He was going to have to try. Lestrade wiped his tears dry, following Sherlock.

"Watch your mouth, you virginal bastard!" Anderson spat, kicking John's stomach twice.

John winced, lying on his side, as he felt the blows come again. He was no longer able to contain his tears by the pain. Everything everywhere hurt. He groaned as he tried to force himself on his knees again, wobbling as he did so.

"Look!" said one pirate.

"He's crying!" said another.

John snarled at them, panting heavily as he did so. He's never felt so weak, so vulnerable before. Not since…the day he had lost his mother.

"Okay, methinks we've played with the boy too long now," Anderson sneered. "Let's end this."

"End what exactly?" a voice boomed behind the crowd.

John noticed Anderson's face paled and his sneer vanish immediately. _What?_ He tried to look over the crowd, but was unable to see anything.

Anderson turned around along with the rest of the crowd. The crowd had split in half, so that a figure appeared in between them. John saw him. _Sherlock Holmes?_ It couldn't be! He's heard Queen Ebony along with other people talk about him, the man that's plagued the seas and lands for over twenty-three years. They drew him perfectly, every minute detail. Yet, something felt different from a drawing and from the actual person. John felt a chilling sensation run down his spine.

Anderson sputtered, "Captain, surely you don't need me to explain what I meant."

Sherlock's gaze turned on Anderson, raising a brow. "Anderson, I didn't ask for your opinion. I asked for an explanation. Now, give me one or he goes free."  
Anderson opened his mouth in shock. "You're joking, right?" Anderson exclaimed angrily.

"Anderson, you've been here long enough to know that I don't make jokes," Sherlock explained.

"Captain, just bloody look at me, he did this to me!" Anderson yelled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, groaning. He placed a hand over his face, shaking his head. "And by what standards – what right – do you have the right to harm him?"

Anderson paused. "Captain, even _you_ should know this rule!"

"TELL ME!" Sherlock snapped back. "Tell me or he goes free."

John flinched as he heard Sherlock's shout. He's heard people shout or scream before, but never had it given him this feeling. He felt immediate danger. This is the second person he's ever felt this type of feeling around with. And yet, it wasn't directed to him!

Just then, a door opened, but no one paid any attention to it. John looked at the door, seeing the pirate that had 'saved' him. John returned his gaze at Sherlock, feeling hope surging through his body. He just might have a chance to survive this.

"Article Five!" Anderson spat angrily.

Sherlock said no more. He glared at Anderson, knowing he had a point. "Punishment is through my decision," he announced at last.

"And you owe me this punishment! You owe me for what you've done! I think it's time you repay it to me right now," Anderson explained.

Sherlock closed his eyes, groaning softly. There was no way out of this. "Forty lashes minus one is your decision?" he asked silently.

Lestrade had stopped walking, staring at Sherlock in surprise. "No," he whispered inaudibly. He continued walking, stopping beside Sherlock. He stared at John, who closed his eyes, turning away from him.

"No," Anderson said, shaking his head. A small smirk tugged on his lips. "Death is my decision. And death he shall receive."

Sherlock turned away from Anderson, nodding his head. "Very well, then. Do it now and do it quickly. I don't want my ship to be stained," Sherlock announced firmly. He turned around, his back facing Anderson. He stared at Lestrade as if saying he had done his best. Lestrade turned away from him, obviously disappointed in him.

"_What_?" John questioned, staring at them all. He found Lestrade and stared him in the eyes. "You promised me! You said I wasn't going to die!"

Lestrade looked at John, closing his eyes as he exhaled shakily. He averted his eyes. "I promised you weren't going to drown. I never promised you'd live," Lestrade managed.

Sherlock stopped walking to his room, biting his lower lip. He clenched his fists but shook the words away. "I mean it when I say quickly," Sherlock answered firmly. "If I hear so much as a yell, it'll be your head Anderson." He then proceeded to make his way to his room again.

Anderson smirked, looking down at John. "Did you honestly think you'd live?" he teased, throwing John back onto the ground.

John grumbled, squirming to his knees again. He managed to lunge forward, head-butting Anderson in the gut. Anderson staggered backwards, clutching his wound John had made earlier.

"You son of a – Restrain him!" Anderson ordered.

Instantly, Dimmock sprang forward, grasping John's restrained arms and holding them firmly. Sally hesitated before she helped him, forcing John to bend down on his knees. His face was facing the floorboard.

"Stop it! Stop it _now_!" John cried, realizing this was actually happening. "Don't do this, please!"

"Hurry!" Sally whimpered, not wanting to partake in this any longer. She turned her head away, so that she was staring at the sky.

Anderson hushed them, grasping his sword from his sheath. He approached John until he was at least two feet away from him. He placed the blade on John's nape. John felt the chillness from the blade against his neck. John closed his eyes as the blade lifted from his neck. This was it, he thought. At least, he was free now.

John waited and waited and waited, but nothing occurred. The only thing he felt were hands letting go of him. John took the chance to steal a quick glance. He looked up, seeing a tall frame in front of him, a sword above the figure's head, centimeters away.

It was none other than the captain himself, Sherlock Holmes. What was he doing? It appeared that everyone had that questioned dawned on them because they all had their mouths agape, staring at their captain.

Anderson removed his sword from his captain, holding it to his side. "Move, Sherlock!" he ordered.

"No, I'm afraid I can't do that. Not if your intention's to kill him," Sherlock replied simply.

"You just said I could kill –"

"I know what I said. But I take it back now. It just dawned on me that you…can't kill him, as much as I'd love to see a royal die," Sherlock said.

"And why not?" Anderson questioned, clearly impatient.

"Article Five," Sherlock began, "which clearly states that a man who strikes another, whilst these Articles are in force, shall receive Moses's Law on the bare back."

"Yes, I understand. What point are you trying to make here?" Anderson spat.

"These Articles are in fact in force, yes. But, it doesn't work here now," Sherlock said, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

"And why not?" Anderson replied.

"Come on! Anderson, you're not that stupid. You should be able to piece this together easily," Sherlock explained. He waited but no reply came. He rolled his eyes. "Typical. What are these Articles for? Better question, whom?"

Anderson's face fell as he slowly lowered his sword. "Pirates."

"And…is John a pirate?" Sherlock questioned, tauntingly.

Anderson looked away, clenching his fists. "No."

"So, who makes the punishments to non-pirates?" Sherlock replied.

"You do," Anderson said.

"Exactly, and since my word is absolute, I can decide this boy's fate," Sherlock explained, crossing his arms. He looked at Lestrade.

Lestrade smiled brightly, beaming at Sherlock. "Thank you," he mouthed silently.

Sherlock turned away from him, spinning around to look at John. He pulled out his sword, pointing it at John. "What did you do to him?" Sherlock asked, gesturing his head towards Anderson.

John stared at Sherlock then back at Anderson. He returned Sherlock's gaze, staring into his gray eyes. "He's already said what I've done –"

"I'm asking _you_, not him," Sherlock said.

"I-I pierced him with my sword, but I only did it because he was going to hurt Mary!" John replied quickly.

"Mary being your fiancé?" Sherlock questioned.

John nodded his head silently.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, straightening himself once more. "Sentiment, ugh," he said. "Punishment, what should your punishment be?"

"Death!" Anderson groaned.

"Shut up, Anderson. I'm trying to think of a proper punish –" Something caught Sherlock's eyes, causing him to pause. He turned to look at John, eyes staring at something around his neck. Sherlock used the tip of his sword to draw it out. John repressed the urge to shudder as he felt the cold blade. He stared down at his neck, seeing his necklace being pulled out by the sword.

"Look what we have here. You royals have good taste in jewelry, I'll give you that," Sherlock said, attempting to draw forth the necklace.

"Stop!" John demanded desperately. "Please, you can do anything you'd like to me, just don't take this from me!"

"And why should I let you keep it?" Sherlock questioned, raising a brow.

"Because my mother gave it to me, and my mother isn't Queen Ebony. Queen Ebony adopted me two days after my mum died! This is all I have left of her! _Please_, I beg of you, _don't_ take it away from me!" John explained, clearly on the verge of crying.

Sherlock's smirk faded away as he stared down at John. In just a brief moment, he saw his vulnerability, his feelings. Sherlock removed his sword from the chain, glancing down at John. "If it'll keep you from crying, then so be it," he answered.

John looked up at Sherlock in surprise. He hadn't expected that at all. He had heard stories of his ruthlessness and his apathy; yet, here he was, showing the opposite.

"Toss him overboard," Sherlock said, walking away.

"What?" Anderson hissed.

"I don't think I stuttered. Toss him overboard, he has no use for me," Sherlock explained.

"But he needs to be punished!" Anderson replied.

"That is his punishment," Sherlock answered.

"Are you deaf or what? He stabbed me in my stomach!" Anderson repeated.

Sherlock stopped, back facing them. He grinned, covering his face with his hand. He leveled himself, turning to look back at John. "You're right, what am I doing?" Sherlock questioned, hands folded neatly behind his back. He strolled his way back towards John. He stopped right in front John. "You'll be working under me. You'll obey everything I say and will only obey _my_ orders only," Sherlock explained. "Is that clear?"

John gazed at Sherlock, mouth hanging opened. He nodded his head slowly, unable to form any sentences.

"Good," Sherlock said. He pulled out his sword, cutting the ropes. "Let's go, up, up."

John hesitated before he obeyed, staggering to his feet. "You need to get out of that dress," Sherlock said, after a quick examination.

"Kimono," John answered.

"What?" Sherlock questioned.

"It's a kimono."

"I don't care," Sherlock replied, walking towards his study. He expected John to follow, and he smiled faintly as he heard footsteps pattering behind him.

"What are you doing?" Anderson questioned, stopping in Sherlock's way.

"He needs to change out of those or do you want him to dress in a drag?" Sherlock said.

"This was worth a lot of money!" John snapped back. He didn't know why he was defending this…dress; Sherlock was right.

Sherlock disregarded John, looking at Anderson. Anderson shook his head furiously. "No! What I mean is why isn't he being punished?" Anderson asked.

Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes at Anderson. "I always hear you all complaining how it's terrible living with me. I'm sure this is an equivalent punishment for him," Sherlock explained. Without waiting for a reply, Sherlock pushed his way through Anderson, John quickly following behind him.

The moment the door closed, Sherlock broke into a fit of laughter. He clutched his sides as he made his way to a closet. John looked at him curiously, raising a brow.

"You know, I hate Anderson. And I want to see him suffer, so his punishment would be having you around," Sherlock answered. "He can't harm you, not unless he wants to die."

John furrowed his brows together, scrunching up his nose. "I don't understand," he managed.

"What don't you understand? I thought I made my point clear."

"Why?" John asked.

"Why what?" Sherlock questioned.

"Why did you save me?" he continued.

Sherlock stared at John, raising a brow. "I want you to understand something, John. And I want you to understand this well," Sherlock explained, marching towards John. "I didn't save you. I didn't _want_ to save you in the first place. I wouldn't have cared if Anderson killed you. But, Lestrade did. You should be _thanking_ Lestrade. "

Goosebumps formed on John's skin as he heard Sherlock's tone. This was…much worse than Ebony. He stared into Sherlock's gray eyes, no green. They change colors? It was marvelous yet terrifying at the same time.

John nodded his head slowly. "I wasn't thanking you," John corrected him. "I just wanted to know the reason why you did it."

Sherlock nodded, moving back towards the closet. He opened the closet doors, inspecting through the contents. He pulled out several clothes, tossing it on the ground, muttering something angrily. He finally pulled something out, walking back to John. "I never said you couldn't move," Sherlock said, realizing John was still against the door.

"You never said I could," John countered.

Sherlock gazed at John, a small smirk tugging on his lips. "True," he answered. He showed John his clothes. "It might be a bit big on you," he explained.

"I'm not wearing that," John replied, looking down at the clothes.

"I'm sorry they're not made from luxurious and fine silk," Sherlock teased. "But it'll make do. Now wear them!"

"No! I'd rather wear this dress then wear pirate clothes! I'd be betraying my own people," he answered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "This is going to be your downfall, John, being loyal. Now, put your loyalty aside and wear these damn clothes!" Sherlock hissed, shoving John the clothes.

John let the clothes fall to the ground. "Honestly, I can get Anderson kill you if I tell him to. He won't –"

"But you wouldn't do that, not if you want to disappoint Lestrade," John countered.

Sherlock raised a brow, staring at John in wonder. Well, then. He's really something, maybe his match. Sherlock shook the thought away, blinking down at John. He bent forward so that he was at eye level with John. They were inches apart.

"John, I think I should tell you as a fair warning, you don't want to be doing this. Don't challenge me if you want to be on my good side," Sherlock warned dangerously.

John returned Sherlock's stare, looking at him in the same level of intensity. Well, that's what he thought anyway. "No, _captain_, I think _you_ should be warned. I can take a challenge and I'm not afraid to back down to one. If you want to play this game, then so be it. I won't disappoint you," John explained, voice low.

Sherlock's smirk widened. Better than _her_, he thought. Much better. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea of letting him stay. Hell, he might have a little fun for once. "Well, then, I see how it is now," he answered.

"I thought you were supposed to be smart," John replied.

Sherlock raised a brow, leaning closer to John. "And I thought you were supposed to be taking orders."

"Not if there aren't any given," he said.

Sherlock nodded. "Quite –"

Sherlock was knocked into John as the floor beneath them shook. Sherlock pressed himself against John, before he backed away. He covered his mouth, eyeing John in disbelief.

"I – err – out of my way!" Sherlock demanded, pushing John aside. "And I expect you to be dressed by the time I come back." He closed the door behind him, face flushed. Sherlock calmed himself before he looked at his crew angrily. "What the bloody hell was that? What are you doing with my ship?" he questioned. "Dimmock, what're you doing? I thought you knew how to turn a wheel! But, I guess I was wrong, _move_."

Instantly, Dimmock nodded, moving away from the wheel in flushed embarrassment. Sherlock grabbed the wheel, turning it to the right slightly.

John flushed in embarrassment, touching his lips. Did that actually just happen? John shook his head verbally. He looked down at the ground, eyeing the clothes suspiciously as if it were its fault. John exhaled bitterly, grasping the clothes from the ground.

John stripped from the kimono, replacing it with the clothes Sherlock had given him. John marched towards a mirror, looking at his reflection. John was now in a white buttoned down shirt collar. He was wearing black pants and boots to go along with it. He felt and looked different in these. He didn't feel betrayal. He felt… John shook the thought away, looking away from the mirror.

"So, where is he going to sleep?" Clara asked.

"Pardon?" Sherlock questioned, as he turned to look at her.

"John, where's John going to sleep? Unless you're planning on letting him sleep beside you?" she questioned.

Remembering the previous event, Sherlock's face reddened. He quickly shook the thought away, replying "John'll sleep in Anderson's room."

"What?" Anderson exclaimed.

"God, am I really stuttering?" Sherlock said, clearly annoyed.

"Why is that virginal bastard sleeping in my room?" he exclaimed, flailing his arms.

"Virginal bastard?" Sherlock questioned, raising a brow. "Anderson, do refrain from insulting our crewmates."

"Why is he sleeping in my room?" Anderson repeated.

"Well, since you're already sleeping in Donovan's, I don't see why you'll be needing that room. John will be sleeping in your room, and that's final," Sherlock stated, returning back to the wheel.

John was bored, unsure what he should do. The embarrassment had past and now he felt trapped. He looked around the room, going through its contents. He would've gone outside, but he knew Anderson wouldn't hesitate on hurting him.

"Clara take the wheel, I'm sure you can manage that," he answered, giving Dimmock a quick glare. Sherlock stopped and looked at Anderson. "You better start packing."

Anderson muttered, marching his way towards his room. Sherlock sniggered silently as he made his way towards his room. This was going to be fun. Once Sherlock opened the door, he noticed John.

John was wrong, by far wrong. The embarrassment was back as soon as Sherlock came through the door. He was holding a map in his hands, caught snooping. He put it down quickly, looking at Sherlock.

"Enjoying yourself?" Sherlock taunted, as he made his way inside the room. He walked towards John, seeing what he had been looking at. "Oh. Looking at Spain, are you?"

"I've always wanted to go there," John murmured softly, trying to hide his flush.

"I thought you've been there multiple times, seeing as you are prince," Sherlock said.

John snorted, shaking his head. "The farthest I've ever been – besides here – is outside the gates of Buckingham Palace," John explained. "Queen Ebony doesn't want me to go outside. She would always tell me how dangerous the world was. I should've listened."

Sherlock exhaled. "No, what she's done is narrowed your perspective on the world. She's made you miss a lot of things. And that's going to change now since we're going to be moving across the world," Sherlock explained.

John crossed his arms at Sherlock, looking at him in disbelief. Really? How is he so relaxed right now after…? "And, where exactly are we going?" John asked.

"Now, I can't tell you that," Sherlock replied.

"Why not?" John questioned.

"Because I haven't gotten a clue myself," Sherlock answered, smirking faintly.

John shook his head at Sherlock silently, grinning faintly.

"Come on," Sherlock said, gesturing with his head. "Let me show you to your room."

"I won't be sleeping here?" John questioned.

"Not unless you're fine sleeping with me," Sherlock replied, stalking off towards the door.

"No, I'm happily engaged," he said.

Sherlock sniggered, shaking his head.

"I am! I love Mary, I tell you," John exclaimed.

"I never said you didn't, but it clearly shows now how you actually feel," Sherlock explained.

John just crossed his arms angrily as he walked out the door. Sherlock crossed towards the other half of the ship, passing the lookout beam. He made his way near the front of the ship, stopping near the bow.

Sherlock showed two doors; one on the floor and the other is just like Sherlock's room. Sherlock's room is basically a 'mini house' that only contains one room overall. It's made of wood on the outside that has dried clay plastered inside to prevent any leakages. That being said, the second room – mini house – is the same for this, same color, same style, except it's near the bow while Sherlock's near the lookout beam.

Now, Sherlock opened the door on the ground, pulling the door. He demonstrated to John the endless stairs. John was going to walk down the stairs until Sherlock stopped him.

"What're you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Going to my room?" John replied.

"No, no, I'm just showing you where the rest of the rooms and bathrooms would be," Sherlock explained, closing the door once more.

Sherlock rose from the ground, straightening himself. He walked towards the second door, motioning John to open the door. John huffed silently as he opened the door. But as he did so, he bumped into a figure, causing him to stagger backwards. It was Anderson. John's skin paled as he saw him. Anderson clenched his fists immediately, grasping John's shirt and pulling him closer.

"Anderson, I thought I made my point clear," Sherlock murmured. "But, I guess my stuttering is getting the best of me. Let me repeat myself. Touch him and it'll be your head."

Anderson let go of John quickly, pushing his way past him. John watched Anderson stalk off angrily. He exhaled in relief, clutching at his sides as he remembered the pain.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked him, glancing at John's movements.

"Yes, I'm fine," John said.

"Are you sure? He kicked you about four times there," Sherlock replied.

"How do you know?" John questioned. "You weren't there."

"I didn't need to be there to know," Sherlock answered. "Now, in you go." Sherlock forced John inside, walking in after him.

John looked at the now-empty room. All that was left was a bed and some sheets. There was a closet, a desk, and a chair in the room as well. The room was painted a dulling gray, and the floorboards were black. John blinked blankly at the room.

Sherlock closed the door behind him, walking around the room. He stopped in front of John, facing him. "Well?" he asked.

"What do you want me to say?" John questioned.

"Thank you, I suppose. This is the second best room on this ship," Sherlock explained.

"Then why did Anderson have it if you hate him so much? I figured you'd give it to Lestrade," John said.

"I did, actually. But Lestrade said the currents bothered him while he was trying to sleep. So, Lestrade traded with Anderson. And now, this is yours," Sherlock explained.

"Did you –?"

"Please stop," Sherlock begged. "I don't have time to idle around. I have to make some distances between Her Majesty's ships. They'll be trying to get you back, you know."

"Oh." John's expression was blank. He turned away from Sherlock, biting his lower lip.

"Unless…that is what you want?" Sherlock said.

"What?" John asked, looking back at Sherlock.

"You, stalling me so the ships can get here faster," Sherlock replied.

"Oh. _Oh_! Yes, yes, that's exactly what I want. You're so clever," John answered, smirking.

Sherlock furrowed his brows at John. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided it was best not to say anything at all. "Right then, I'll just leave you here then," Sherlock said. He opened the door, giving John one last glance before he closed the door gently.

John exhaled, as he made his way towards the bed. The moment John reached the bed, the door snapped open once more. John twirled around and looked at Sherlock again.

"Oh! A little piece of advice, I wouldn't sleep with those sheets, or much less, sit on those sheet," Sherlock announced.

"Why?" John questioned.

Sherlock shook his head. "I'll send Clara or Lestrade to send you some new sheets, just don't…sit or even attempt to touch those sheets," Sherlock explained.

"Thank you? Is that all?" John asked, knitting his brows together.

Sherlock nodded his head, disappearing from view once more. John couldn't help but laugh as he heard Sherlock's explanation. That was weird.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Explanations

A/N:

I will be posting a chapter every two weeks to a month. I'm just really busy and I don't have a lot of time on my side. I hope you all understand.

Also, the next chapter, I guarantee, will finally begin the adventure.

Darkness settled among the land and seas. The only thing that was bright and illuminating was the crescent moon. With darkness, there came the unforgiving wind, howling out its gushes of air at anyone who comes near it.

And yet, in the midst of all of this, there was John, slowly creeping his way to the poop deck. He cursed silently every time the traitorous floorboards dared to make a creak. He had to do it. There was no way out of this. He was going to get caught once more. It was now or never. John closed his eyes as he grasped the edge of the deck, sitting on the railings. He glanced down at the ocean below, his breath hitching in his throat. He didn't have it in him to do this. He was too weak. But, if he didn't do it, he'd never be free. He'll always be a tool.

He was doing it. He was going to do it. John braced himself, gripping the railing tightly, causing his knuckles to whitened. He was cold to the bone, but John didn't care. He was going to be colder once he entered the ocean. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, before he began to loosen his grip on the railing.

"What are you doing?" said a voice.

John's eyes snapped open immediately, quickly glancing behind him before looking towards the direction of the voice. It was none other than Sherlock Holmes. How did John miss hearing him? He was so sure he had been silent as well.

"Stay right there!" he warned, raising his voice only slightly.

Sherlock shook his head, rolling his eyes at John. "I'm not here to stop you," Sherlock began. "By all means, go on ahead and jump. I couldn't care less. I would love to see the drowning effects on the body. But, what I want to know is why?" Sherlock finished, glancing at John.

John looked back at Sherlock, huffing irritably. "That is none of your concern!" he snapped back angrily.

"Come on," Sherlock said, taking a few steps on the stairs. "Sure, today was a bit rough for you after losing your fiancé and home, but it couldn't have been _that_ bad!"

"Stop! I mean it," John murmured, facing the ocean below. He hesitated before he continued, "I'll do it."

Sherlock raised his hands in the air, as if that would help with the ordeal. "See? Is that better for you?" he asked, resisting the urge to continue his pace.

John said nothing, glancing back at Sherlock silently. His heavy panting was the only thing that could be heard besides the waves below. John could see his breath from the cold. He met Sherlock's eyes, which were now a deep shade of sapphire.

"What?" John remarked, after a moment of pause. "What do you want from me?"

Sherlock crossed his arms at John, rolling his eyes at him. He groaned irritably as if he was just asked a ridiculous question. "I already said what I wanted. I want an explanation of why you're going to kill yourself. Surely, it's not because you're here. It's more than just that, so don't you dare use that as an excuse," Sherlock explained quickly.

He waited for John to say something, staring him down. John exhaled bitterly, looking away from his penetrating eyes. He didn't have to listen to Sherlock. He could let go and fall into the ocean. Yet, he couldn't. Sherlock was the only thing holding him back.

"She's not going to stop," he mustered.

Sherlock stared intently at John, kitting his brows at his response. "What? Whom?" he inquired.

"Queen Ebony, who else?" John snapped back angrily. "She's going to – to find you eventually. And when she does, she's going to kill everyone in this ship!"

"Your point?" Sherlock questioned, gesturing John to continue.

"She's going to take me back. And when she does, I'll never be able to leave. I won't be able to do anything," John explained, voice hoarse. "I'll just be her bloody toy!"

"Ah, now, I see," Sherlock said, crossing his arms again. A small smirk formed on his lips, obviously looking smug. "_You_ wanted to escape. So when you saw the _opportunity_ to escape, you grasped it. Now, the question is _why_? You told me earlier that you weren't able to leave as far as the Palace. So, the reason could be that you wanted to explore the world. I'm your only chance of escaping her. Am I correct?" he finished.

John said nothing, mouth agape from the announcement. He shook his head silently, causing Sherlock's smirk to vanish instantly. "What? Then what is it?" Sherlock questioned, standing on the surface now.

"Stop moving!" John warned, gripping the railing tightly.

"No! I will continue to proceed until you tell me why!" Sherlock retorted, taking his chances and proceeding to move.

"Okay, _okay_!" John exclaimed. "You were partially correct, but that's not even half of the reason of why I'm doing this. You wouldn't understand. You don't know _who_ she is. You don't know her like I do.

"Ebony is a ruthless person. She'll stop at nothing to get what she desires. And what she's desired for the past twenty-two years is me! I don't know why she chose to inaugural me on my twenty-second birthday, but it can't be good, Sherlock. You have to keep me away from her. Please, _don't_ send me back to her! I can't – I – I – _please_, I'm begging you!" John explained, voice hoarse and on the brink of tears.

Sherlock had uncrossed his arms at his explanation, staring at John expressionless. He grimaced moments later, glancing at the ground. He didn't realize he had his fists clenched until he felt something trickling down his palm. He unclenched his fists, looking down at his – now – bleeding palms.

After a brief debate, Sherlock muttered, "I'm not going to make any promises, but… I'll see what I can do. Now, get off of there. You're going to catch a cold, and the last thing I need, is everyone on my ship dying."

John stared at Sherlock in disbelief. He hesitated before he slowly moved away from the rail, wobbling as he did so. He stood on the surface, almost exhaling as he landed safely. He turned his attention to Sherlock, noticing he wasn't smiling nor frowning.

"Come on, let's go to my room," he murmured.

He turned around, back facing John, and stalked across the floorboards. In a few swift movements, he was by the door. His hand was clasped around the doorknob before he looked back at John. John was nearing the door silently, but with obvious hesitation. Sherlock opened the door and crossed inside the building.

John closed the door behind him, instantly feeling the blazing fire from the fireplace. His cold body began to warm, and he sighed in relief.

"Sit by the fireplace," Sherlock instructed, staring intently at John.

John didn't even hesitate. He moved to the available chair and sat by the fire, feeling his fingers thaw.

"So, tell me, John," Sherlock said, walking to a table and picking up a glass, "what exactly does Ebony want from you?" Sherlock poured rum in the glass he was holding, placing the bottle down. "Want some?"

John stared at him before he shook his head silently. "No, thank you. I've seen Harry drink before and – well – let's say I don't _ever_ want to drink," he answered.

Sherlock shrugged silently as he sipped his glass. He made his way over to John, sitting in the seat opposite him. "So…tell me."

"Sherlock, let's just say I have, or rather, possess, something she wants," John answered.

"Which is?" Sherlock questioned, clearly interested.

"I'm sorry, you wouldn't believe me even if I told you," John replied.

"Try me," Sherlock said. "I've seen and experienced things that aren't exactly normal or considered real."

John smiled faintly, shaking his head. "I can't, Sherlock –"

"You can't or you won't?" Sherlock interrupted.

"Both, I suppose," John answered bitterly. "Please, I'd rather not say. I'm not exactly proud of it. Let's just leave at that, _please_?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, rolling his eyes. He said nothing in return, but he drained his glass. His eyes searched John, trying to discover what exactly he was hiding. But when he found nothing, he huffed in irritation.

"I'm curious now, is it because of what you possess that she adopted you?" he questioned.

"I'm not entirely sure about that myself," John confessed, eyes glancing at the carpet. "All I remember about that night was…lying…against my dead mother. I don't know how she died. I've asked Harry multiple times but she – she doesn't remember either! I just –"

"Earlier," Sherlock interrupted, placing the glass on the table between them, "you were going to ask me something. What were you going to ask me?"

John realized he had his mouth agape and closed it, licking his lips. Why was he changing the subject? John wasn't going to press him on it. He was relieved that he had done so. "I – err – I was…just going to ask if you built this ship?" John murmured silently.

Why? Why was he showing mercy to him? He was the enemy, wasn't he? Yet, Sherlock couldn't help but feel sympathy for John. He hadn't asked for this. And yet, he had to endure this ordeal with a smile. Nevertheless, Sherlock tried to mask away his true feelings, nodding occasionally at John. Upon hearing the question, Sherlock groaned.

"Oh," he managed. "Well, I built everything except for the ship."

"Oh?" John questioned.

"I conquered and defeated the people who originally owned this ship," he continued.

"Which were?" John asked, clearly interested in the matter.

"Captains John and Mathew Bluebeard," Sherlock said.

"Oh, I've heard of them!" John exclaimed. "Mike would always read me stories of the Bluebeard Brothers whenever I was bored."

"Stories?" Sherlock questioned, knitting his brows.

"Yes, stories. They have stories of all the pirates and their adventures and crimes. They even wrote about you," John said.

A small smirk appeared on Sherlock's lips, clearly pleased by what John had said. "Oh, _really_? And…what do they say about me?"

"Well, they refer to you as the man who's plagued the seas and lands for twenty-three years," John murmured.

"Now, they're just exaggerating," Sherlock answered. "I'm not even twenty-three years old."

John narrowed his eyes, knitting his brows together. "Then how old are you?"  
"Just how old do I look to you, John?" Sherlock questioned.

John stared at Sherlock. The first thing that captivated his attention were his eyes, which were now appearing red and orange from the fire. His eyes trailed to Sherlock's face. He was pale despite the fact of sitting next to the fire. He couldn't spot a wrinkle or any age marks on him. So…he was young.

"I'm not sure," John murmured, palm on his cheek. "How old are you?"

"I'll be twenty-one in January," Sherlock replied.

"Twenty-one?" John exclaimed. "Wow, I can't say I'm not impressed. Just…how long have you been…doing this…thing?" John asked.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed silently. "Oh, I've been 'pirating' ever since I was thirteen years old."

"Thirteen?" John questioned in disbelief. "_Thirteen_?"

Sherlock nodded his head slowly. "Problem?"

"When I was thirteen, I was learning how to fence. While you were thirteen, you decided to become a pirate. Unbelievable. And you expect me to believe that you defeated the Bluebeard Brothers?"

"It's the truth. Whether you choose to believe it or not is your choice. I know it sounds far-fetched but it's the truth. I've always been a brilliant child growing up. John, when I was five, I had the intellect of a young adult," Sherlock explained.

"Well, Queen Ebony did say you were bright and deceitful," John whispered. "Just…how did you defeat the Bluebeard Brothers?" John asked.

"That, John, will be a story for another day to tell," Sherlock replied. He rose to his feet, grasping his glass.

"We've got all night!" John exclaimed. "I really want to know."

Sherlock turned, narrowing his eyes whilst tilting his head, to face John. He was strange, Sherlock concluded. However, he couldn't help but smile. He even considered telling John the story, but he had work to do.

"Sure, we do have all night. But we won't have any morning if Ebony knows where we're going," Sherlock explained.

John's face faltered, frowning slightly. "You're right," he whispered, looking down at his hands. "Sorry, go on ahead."

Sherlock bit his bottom lip. He hadn't intended that outcome. He repressed the urge to groan. "How about I make you a deal, John?"

John glanced back at Sherlock, puzzled. "Yes?"

"If you go to sleep right now, I'll tell you about the Bluebeard Brothers," he replied.

John smiled faintly, nodding. "Sure, I wouldn't mind that."

"Okay, sleep then," Sherlock answered, grabbing his coat.

"Here?" John questioned.

"Yes, here," Sherlock replied. "Sleep anywhere you'd like. I'm not tired and I've got better things to attend to at the moment."

Without giving John a chance to reply, Sherlock opened the door and left the room, leaving John alone. Sherlock exhaled as he crossed the ship to the wheel. What was he doing? All the years he had trained himself to bury and forget his emotions. And what use was that? He became undone instantly the moment _he_ comes on board and starts talking about his sob story of a life.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, conflicted. But, John wasn't just a sob story. There was more to him that he's keeping from him. What he's hiding? Sherlock was determined to find out. But he knew he had to be wary of John at the same moment. John could use his undoing against him. And for all Sherlock could imagine, John could have made the whole thing up. Yet, he sounded sincere.

John had fallen asleep on Sherlock's bed. At first, he detested the idea of sleeping on the bed and wanted to go to his room. But then, he knew he barely had Sherlock on his side. If he disobeyed his orders, he'd be vulnerable.

When John woke in the morning, he found his left hand handcuffed to the bedpost. He tried to force his arm out of it, but after a few tugs, he gave up. He attempted to sit in a sitting position, facing the bedpost. He groaned angrily, trying to free himself but realized he was unable.

"Sherlock!" he screamed angrily.

In the midst of his struggle, the door opened. It was Anderson, who looked clearly worried until he spotted John.

"What the hell?" he questioned, approaching the bed.

John froze, staring at Anderson in horror. He clamped his mouth shut but continued to try and free his wrist.

"Why are you in his room handcuffed?" Anderson questioned.

"Does that bother you?" a voice said, approaching.

Anderson turned around, face red. "C-cap-captain!" he stammered.

"Anderson, what have I said about entering my room?" Sherlock asked in a grave tone.

Anderson shook his head vigorously, slowly inching his way to the door. "I-I heard a scream, and I thought someone was in pain," he explained. Once he was near the door, Anderson grabbed the knob, closing it behind him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, approaching John.

"Why did you handcuff me to the bed?" John questioned, clearly angry.

Sherlock ignored him, sitting beside John. He reached his hand forward but John had moved away. "Don't think yourself so special," Sherlock said, grasping John's hand and placing the key in the hole.

John fumed, flushing brightly. "I wasn't –"

"Right," Sherlock replied, a smirk tugging on his lips.

John hopped off the bed, rubbing his wrist. "Don't you ever handcuff me to the bed again!" he warned.

"Or what?" Sherlock questioned.

"You'll find yourself a grave man," he replied.

Sherlock's smirk widened. "Get in line, John," he answered. "Now, come out and help."

"With what?" John questioned.

"I need to stash the loot. I can't carry the loot with me everywhere. It'll slow down the ship. Come on, let's go. You're not made of glass," he replied.

John rolled his eyes, pushing his way past Sherlock. He opened the door, closing his eyes as he felt the sun shine brightly at him. Once adjusted, John opened his mouth in amazement, beaming. "Unbelievable," John whispered.

"Like it?" Sherlock asked, stopping beside him.

"What is this? Where is it?" he questioned, walking towards the side of the ship.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Sherlock answered. "Now, do what everyone's doing and follow them." He pushed John forward.

"What're you going to do?" John asked.

"Prepare the ship," Sherlock replied.

"You're not as brilliant as they said," John said.

"Not as old either," Sherlock answered, smiling. "Now, go!"

John shook his head before he walked away.

Sherlock eyed him until he disappeared from sight. He fumbled in his pockets, looking at the ruby gem. He knew he should stash it away along with the rest of the loot, but something compelled him in doing otherwise. He observed the tiny gem until he heard footsteps, quickly placing it in his pockets and looking up expectantly.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock said happily.

"John told me you handcuffed him to the bed. Why?" Lestrade questioned, striding towards Sherlock.

Sherlock scoffed. "I also told him he shouldn't think of it in any special way. I simply didn't want him wandering off while I was sorting things out at night," Sherlock replied.

"Wander off?" Lestrade asked.

"Nothing to worry about, of course," Sherlock answered. "He was just trying to escape."

"You should've let him," Lestrade said.

Sherlock glared at Lestrade. "Lestrade, you are under my rules. You must follow them whether you like it or not. I did you a favor already, don't think I'll do it again," Sherlock replied. "I already have more than enough mouths to feed, now I have another."

"Is that all I am to you?" John questioned angrily. He was standing by the stairs, crossing his arms.

Lestrade and Sherlock both turned in John's direction. Lestrade's face whitened at the sight of him, knowing they were caught. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked calm and relaxed.

"Of course," he replied simply.

John chuckled bitterly. "And I – I thought you –"

"What? You honestly thought I cared about you?" Sherlock mocked.

"No, I thought you were _different_. But I was wrong, clearly mistaken. I don't know who's worse, you or Ebony. But I guess _you_ take the prize," John answered, clenching his fists.

"Ebony?" Lestrade questioned, staring at the both of them.

But he received no answer. Sherlock stared at John intently, narrowing his eyes. He exhaled bitterly, glancing away from John, biting his lower lip.

"If I'm such a waste of space to you, then leave me here. I'll wait to see if Ebony comes for me like you mentioned," John continued.

Sherlock returned his gaze at John, puzzled. "Yesterday, you said –"

"Better try my chances with her than with _you_," John spat.

That shouldn't have hurt as much as it had sounded. A comment like that would've made Sherlock laugh heartily. Even so, something inside Sherlock snapped. He pulled out his sword, pointing it at John.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade exclaimed.

But Sherlock had grasped the blade, turning it so that it was facing him. The hilt was facing John's direction now.

"Take it and prove your worth to me," Sherlock muttered.

"What?" John questioned.

"I don't think I stuttered," Sherlock snapped back coldly.

John grasped the sword firmly, dangling it near his side.

Lestrade groaned, covering his face with his hand and shaking his head.

John had diverted his attention from Sherlock, glancing at Lestrade. But as he returned his attention, he noticed a blade in his direction. In a flash, John moved aside, pulling the sword upwards.

John staggered backwards as he desperately tried to divert Sherlock's attacks. He backed against the side of the boat, Sherlock's sword swinging towards him. John moved aside, causing the blade to pierce the wood. John found his chance. While Sherlock was trying to pull his sword out, John lunged. Sherlock noticed and let go of his sword, ducking, and kicking John's back.

John groaned as he felt the blow on his back. He noticed his sword fell to the ground and quickly swooped it up. Just in time as well because Sherlock had managed to release his sword, lunging towards John.

Their swords clashed, causing them to screech in agony. John's ears hurt from the noise, but he repressed the urge to cover them.

"What're you doing?" John exclaimed, struggling to keep his sword in sync with Sherlock's.

"If you don't want me to think of you as a waste of space, then prove it to me. Let me see just how skilled you are at fencing," Sherlock replied.

"But –"

John didn't have time to speak as the blade came charging back towards him. He jumped backwards to divert the blade. He had been deceived, falling onto the ground from one of Sherlock's swift kicks. On the ground, John rolled around, clutching onto the sword. Once he stopped rolling, he swung the sword in time to stop Sherlock's.

"Stop it!" he cried out angrily.

"Get up!" Sherlock snapped back, withdrawing his sword.

John hesitated before he rose to his feet. Quickly, he jabbed the sword near Sherlock's side. But Sherlock had anticipated it, dropping his own sword to grasp John's hand – twisting John's hand at the same moment – with one hand, and with the other, dug his fist into John's captured hand, near his elbow. John's eyes widened, howling in agony. He staggered backwards, clutching onto his, now, broken arm.

"You-you broke it!" John exclaimed.

"Correction: you caused yourself to break it," Sherlock answered dismissively. He picked up his sword, placing it in its holster. He began walking away.

John winced as he tried to move his hand. He groaned bitterly, picking up the sword from the ground with his available hand.

Lestrade noticed this, screaming "Sherlock!"

Sherlock turned round, eyes widening. He grabbed the sword with his hands, stopping John from charging forward. John slumped down on the ground, panting heavily. He noticed blood trickling down the blade. His eyes widened as he looked for the source. Sherlock? But of course, Sherlock had grasped the blade while he was still running. The blade must've cut through his skin.

Sherlock looked down at John, removing the sword from his hands. He stared down at John in disbelief. No one, not even Lestrade, had ever been skilled enough to cut him. No, this was pure luck, nothing more. Right? Sherlock looked at Lestrade, who crossed his arms. Lestrade was smiling and nodding his head slowly.

Sherlock shook his head, disproving of Lestrade's answer. He glanced down at John, who had his head low. "Stop it now, I'm not going to kill you," Sherlock replied, placing the remaining sword in his sheath.

He offered John his hand. "Come on, let's have Molly take a look at that wound," Sherlock said.

John hesitated before he took Sherlock hand. He unclasped his hand, seeing blood on his palm. "Y-you need to get yourself checked as well," John whispered.

Sherlock looked down at his palms, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Quite right," he replied.

"Well," Molly said. "It's not broken, thankfully. But it is strained. I'll need to bandage that."

Molly released John's arm, smiling fondly at him. John was sitting on a metal table. He sighed in relief as he heard Molly's results.

Molly turned to look at Sherlock, shaking her head angrily at him. "You are not to order John around while he is resting his arm, got it?" she ordered. "What's wrong with you? We're not supposed to kill him."

"I wasn't going to kill him!" Sherlock retorted. Sherlock's hands were both covered in bandages, meaning Molly had already checked and treated him.

"Don't you start on me, captain!" Molly snapped back. "Have we got ourselves an understanding on this?"

Sherlock crossed his arms angrily, murmuring, "Yes."

Molly smiled brightly, before returning her attention to John. "You can put your shirt back on, John," Molly replied. She walked out the door, glancing at Sherlock and mouthing, "Help him."

John nodded silently, wincing as he tried to put his hand through the sleeve hole. Sherlock sighed remorsefully, uncrossing his arms.

"Let me help," he whispered.

"No!" John exclaimed, moving away from Sherlock. "I think you've done enough."

"John, I didn't –"

"Oh, don't give me that! Don't you dare! You had _every_ intention in doing so," he snapped back.

Sherlock huffed, looking away from John. He rubbed his shoulder silently, watching John as he tried to put his hand in the sleeve.

"Just!" Sherlock exclaimed, striding towards John. "Let me help you."

John groaned angrily, but submitting.

Sherlock grasped the sleeve and slid John's arm into it. He helped John with the other sleeve, even though John no longer needed the assistance. He buttoned John's shirt, eyeing John as he did so.

"Listen, John," Sherlock whispered, glancing down at his shoes. "I didn't – okay, well I did. But, nevertheless, I'm…sorry."

"You're what?" John said, furrowing his brows.

"John, please, don't make me repeat myself."

"No, I didn't hear you. What did you say?" John asked, showing no mercy.

"I'm sorry! Happy?" Sherlock replied, crossing his arms.

The floorboards beneath them rumbled, and they both shook unwillingly. Once the shaking stopped, Sherlock glanced at John.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, obviously worried.

John was surprised by his response, but nodded his head. "I am. What was that?"

Sherlock almost smacked himself for being so stupid. "Dimmock!" Sherlock growled. He grasped John's hand, tugging on it.

Having no choice, John followed along, clasping Sherlock's hand. Once they were near the surface, Sherlock realized what he had done. He quickly jerked his arm away from John's.

"Dimmock!" he said, trying to change his focus. "I thought I ordered Clara to steer this ship!" Sherlock exclaimed.

Dimmock's face reddened, obviously embarrassed. Head low, he let go of the wheel. He walked away from the wheel, going down the stairs. John moved aside as Dimmock made his way downstairs.

"Clara!" Sherlock shouted.

Instantly, Clara appeared, approaching Sherlock with caution. "Yes, captain?" she asked.

"Why weren't you at your post?" Sherlock ordered.

"Captain, I have a post already. Why would you assign me two posts? I'm only one person," Clara shot back.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "All you're doing is looking."

"Exactly, and had it not been for me, yesterday's enemies would've successfully raided this ship," Clara retorted.

Sherlock growled angrily, crossing his arms. "Then who's going to control the ship if I'm not doing it?" Sherlock asked.

"You can have the prince do it," Clara suggested, looking towards John.

"Please, he's never been out his palace. He wouldn't know where to go," Sherlock replied.

"Hey!" John exclaimed. "I think you'd be surprised that I'm a lot more capable than I seem!"

Sherlock bit his lip, looking down at his palms. He clenched his fists before glancing back at John. "Quite right," he muttered.

"So?" John questioned.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Am I going to steer this ship or not?" John replied.

"Depends," Sherlock said.

"On what?" John asked.

"You."

"Me? What about me?" John questioned, knitting his brows together.

"Do you want to do it?" Sherlock answered.

"Why should my opinion matter to you?" John shot back.

"Because, you git, Molly has given me strict orders to not bully you around," Sherlock said.

"I will if you'll stop handcuffing me to the bed," John answered.

"Again with this?" Sherlock questioned.

"You handcuffed him to the bed?" Clara asked, staring at Sherlock in disbelief. "Captain, I didn't think you were that type of person."

"That's because I'm not!" Sherlock retorted. "I've got no interest in anybody. And even if I did, I would never choose _him_!"

John scoffed. "Well, the same could be said to you!"

"Boys, can we calm down now. Just because you both got rejected, doesn't mean you have to behave in such a manner," Clara said, smirking.

"Stay out of this!" Sherlock and John both hissed.

Clara raised both of her hands in the air, walking away from them.

Sherlock and John were left alone in silence, both staring at the other intently. None dared to say a word as if the first to speak would lose. Finally, John huffed and murmured. "Are you going to teach me or what?" he questioned.

"Teach you what?" Sherlock snapped back.

"Steering and how you'd like for me to do it," John said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Position yourself."

John faced the wheel, grasping it by the middle. Sherlock groaned, shaking his head. "No," Sherlock murmured. "Ten and three position," Sherlock said.

"Ten and what?" John questioned.

Sherlock huffed; He grasped John's right hand and placed it near the top right. "Like this," Sherlock said. "Now, if your left hand was working, you'd have to place it here," Sherlock explained, placing his left hand opposite of John.

"I don't understand, why does it matter?" John asked, turning to stare at Sherlock.

"It's just like driving a car, John. You don't place your hands on the middle but near the top. It'll help you steer better," Sherlock explained, staring into John's eyes, which looked darker compared to his. "D-do you understand?" he stammered.

John quirked a brow by his stutters, but nodded his head. "And…how will I know when to steer in what direction?" John asked.

"I – errm – I'll tell you, John, okay?" he replied, glancing away from John's gaze.

"All right," John answered. "Anything else you need to tell me?"

Sherlock clamped his mouth shut when a thought occurred to him. He quickly shook his head.

"Okay," John said silently, glancing forward.

Sherlock realized he still had his hand on John's and quickly jerked away, face red. Geez, he felt like a complete idiot. What was going on with him? More importantly, what was John doing to him? All he knew, it couldn't have been good.

And then he heard it, his name being called out. He glanced back at John, who was staring at him. Why was he staring at him like that? No one's ever looked at him liked that. What did it mean? No, no, he was just over thinking it.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock questioned silently.

"Sherlock, tell me about the Bluebeard Brothers," John said.

Sherlock stared at John, a small smile forming on his lips. He nodded his head slowly. "Persistent aren't we?" he replied.

"I want to know how a bloody thirteen year old defeated two grown men," John replied.

"Well, they're still alive. Well, Mathew's still alive last I saw him," Sherlock answered.

"Tell me!" John chuckled.

"Fine," Sherlock replied.

"So, when I was thirteen, I had joined John's and Mathew's crew. I lied about my age and said I was sixteen. I had instantly regretted joining their crew because they were awful pirates. They were cruel to their crew and mistreated them daily. By the end of my first week, I had – in total – received a hundred and fifty nine lashes. I was scarred and bruised for weeks. Yet, they never stopped, the lashes.

"The punishment got so bad that I could barely get out of my own bed. Oh, my bed!" Sherlock exclaimed bitterly. "My bed was made of straw and I slept near some of the animals. I got sick really bad one time. And it was so bad that they locked me up in a cell. I nearly died had it not been for George. George would secretly go behind everyone's back and treat me with some medicine he would find. George was twice my age."

"Then, after six months of enduring that hellhole, I decided I was going to split from the crew. But upon finding out, thanks to Jacob, I was beaten and nearly killed – because you couldn't just 'leave' the crew, once you joined, you never left – had it not been for George. It was there where we both rose up from the crew and captains and overthrew them. George and I were the best sword fighters there was, despite my young age. We easily killed the crew.

"But trying to kill or overpower the two Bluebeards was a challenge. Unintentionally, I had killed John, who was going to jab George. As for Mathew, George and I managed to wound him everywhere, but the cowered jumped overboard. We thought he was dead until we met up with him a few years later, but we managed to escape.

"But since everyone was dead and the remaining captain had openly abandoned his ship, the ship was ours. George was the captain. He made the orders and I was his crew and secondhand man," Sherlock explained, looking at John as he finished.

John was silent, horrified by the events. "A hundred and fifty-nine lashes?" John questioned, voice hoarse. "Does – does it still hurt, after all these years?"

Sherlock shook his head. "It stopped hurting five years ago," Sherlock answered.

"And George, what happened to him? If he was the captain, then why are you captain? Did he quit being a pirate?" John asked.

Sherlock chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "George's dead. He's been dead for the past three years," Sherlock said. "By default, I became captain. Though, it could've easily been Lestrade."

"Lestrade?" John questioned.

"George always _liked_ Lestrade best. He liked him _more_ than me," Sherlock replied.

"What do you mean?" John asked, clearly puzzled.

"John, let's just say that we both had different feelings towards the other," Sherlock answered.

"I don't understand," John said.

"Then, it's better that you don't," Sherlock replied bitterly, frowning slightly.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John whispered. "I didn't mean to bring back bad memories."

Sherlock shook his head quickly. "Why should I care?" Sherlock questioned. "It's past, it doesn't matter anymore."

"Don't say that," John replied. "My mum's been dead for nearly sixteen years, and it still hurts me. It still matters to me, Sherlock. So, I know it still matters to you even if three years have past," John explained.

Sherlock was silent for a few moments, unable to meet John's eyes. When he did, he gingerly patted John's back, saying, "In five minutes, I want you to steer left. Only half way and, still keeping the wheel that way, keep you hands on ten and three. Got it?"

John exhaled silently but managed to nod. "I understand."

Sherlock nodded. "Good," he said, walking away from him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Change Is Stirring**

"Sherlock!" hollered John, swinging his sword to the side, blocking off the other man's attack. "I'm in need of assistance!"

Sherlock grunted angrily, rolling his eyes at John. He cut away a rope that was tied to the lookout-post, causing the sails to drop. The sails came crashing down on a second man, toppling over him. The man tried to get up but the weight of the sails prevented him from doing so.

"If you can see," Sherlock began, "I'm busy here! Go ask Lestrade!" Sherlock grasped his sword from the floor, blocking a third man's attack. "I'm cleaning up after _your_ mess!"

"You're the closest here, you arse! The crew's busy fighting off the rest of the pirates," John shot back. "_My mess_?" he exclaimed incredulously. John ducked in time as a blade came swinging in his direction. "How is this my fault?"

"I told you to turn the wheel counter clockwise, one-quarter of the way! You were off by two centimeters!" Sherlock explained, swinging his leg against the third man once more.

"How does that make any difference?" John yelled in disbelief. He marched forward, jumping, and grasped the ratlines. He began climbing before the first man came after him, cutting away the ends of the lines. John yelped as the ratline began swinging around. He realized he was no longer onboard. He desperately clutched onto the ropes, but they began to unravel themselves.

But Sherlock hadn't noticed John's situation, continuing, "Are you serious? It makes all the difference, you git! If you had done what I had told you to do, we could've avoided these idiots!"

"Sherlock!" John cried out, trying to hold onto the ropes.

That caught his attention now. Sherlock looked briefly in John's direction. His eyes widened as he saw John in midair. "Damn this boy!" he muttered, kicking the man he was fighting with.

Sherlock stalked around, clashing swords with the man John had been fighting with. When he saw the opportunity, he brought the remaining lines towards the ship. "Jump!" he yelled out to John, ducking as the man's sword came swinging for him.

"What?" John exclaimed, looking down at the floor.

"Do as I say!" Sherlock replied, managing to slice the pirate's thigh. Down came the pirate on the ground, covering his hands on his thighs.

"Not so tough now, eh?" Sherlock mocked, knocking the pirate unconscious with the back of his hilt.

John tumbled onto the ground, groaning irritably. "You couldn't think of a better idea?" he grumbled.

"The only other option I had was to have you jump in the ocean," Sherlock replied nonchalantly. He placed his sword in his sheath, looking down at the pirate he had just knocked unconscious.

John rolled his eyes, shaking his head bitterly. He heard it. His eyes widened in fear as he heard the shriek. "Molly!" he exclaimed, running in the direction of the scream.

"John!" Sherlock snapped. "Don't go running into things so foolishly!" Sherlock grunted in annoyance, running after him.

Molly grasped her arm in pain, seeing her blood soak her sleeve. The pirate kicked Molly in the stomach, causing her to tumble to the ground. Before she could grasp the situation, the blade pierced her shoulder. She howled in pain, unable to bite back a scream.

John lunged forward, tackling the pirate to the ground. They both rolled around the floor before a shot was fired. They both stopped moving, looking at the gun powder in the air. Standing above them was the captain of the opposing side, Henry Morgan. He had untidy black hair with a long bushy mustache and beard. He was also pudgy. He looked down at John and his own crewmember.

"Ah, so you're the Queen's brat!" he exclaimed, happily. "Come with me if you want to go home."

John stared at him in disbelief. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Haven't you heard? Your mummy made peace with all the pirates, guaranteeing them equality and protection in exchange of bringing you back, oh, and to kill the people responsible in your abduction," he explained.

The captain stared down at John with a menacing smile, urging him to follow him. Suddenly, the captain pointed his pistol behind him, looking at Sherlock.

"Why hello, Captain Holmes, I'll give you the chance to hand us the brat and you can all walk away peacefully," he said.

"No!" John exclaimed, looking at Sherlock.

Both captains turned to stare at John. "No?" questioned Morgan. "Don't you want to go home? Go to your nice little palace and enjoy your pompous life?"

John glared at the pirate, biting his lower lip at him. He ignored his presence. John stared at Sherlock, pleadingly.

Sherlock turned away from John, saying, "And what makes you think we'll hand him over?"

"You're bargaining with Davy Jones, Captain Holmes," he muttered. He smiled toothlessly. "But then again, you're the one who enjoys the rush of a thrill."

Henry lifted his pistol once more, pointing it at Sherlock. "Think of this as a thrill," he continued. He cocked the gun, gently pushing on the trigger.

"I'll go!" John exclaimed.

Everyone turned their attention to John. John began rising from the floor, standing on his feet.

"I'll go with you, just don't…hurt them," John explained, looking at Molly.

"Loyal already?" Henry teased. "I can see why you're all trying to keep him." Henry jerked his head, motioning for John to move. "Wait! Drop and remove any weapons you have on you."

John hesitated before he dropped his sword and removed the knives he had on him. "Happy?" John muttered angrily.

"Very," Henry said.

John had both his hands in the air, as if surrendering. He slowly treaded his way past the captain, glancing at Sherlock briefly.

His expression surprised John. He looked…sad, almost hurt. What had he done now? Didn't he realize he was doing this to protect _them_?

Henry, once more, pointed his pistol at Sherlock. John stopped walking, glaring at Henry in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"Keep on moving, John, if you don't want to see this," Sherlock answered.

"Sher – You promised!" John exclaimed, looking at Henry. "You said –"

"Please, do you want to know how much _his_ bounty is?" Henry said. "Isn't that right, Captain Holmes?"

Sherlock stared at Henry, smiling wolfishly. His sneer quickly vanished as he glanced behind Henry. "John! I said –"

In a flash, Captain Morgan had pointed his gun at John. But Sherlock had grasped Morgan's hand, forcing his hand in the air. After three shots were fired, Morgan punched Sherlock's gut, throwing him away from him. Sherlock crashed into John, who had grabbed his sword.

John sprinted towards Morgan, dodging his bullets. He jumped sideways and rolled onto the ground as a bullet came whizzing past his shoulder. He yelled angrily as he stood on his knees, piercing Morgan in the heart.

There was a loud gasp from the audience, but then it died out. Silence. It was nothing more than eerie silence. John's eyes widened as he looked up at the captain. John's complexion had paled and his pupils were dilated. He pulled out the sword from the captain, stumbling backwards. The captain came crashing onto the ground besides John. John yelped as he crawled backwards.

What – what had he done?! No! This was – it was an accident! He didn't think he'd – no… John grasped his hair with his hands, trembling as he did so.

Sherlock looked down at John. Sherlock lunged forward, blocking an opposing pirate from killing John. "John!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Move, dammit! Move or they're going to murder you!"

But John remained where he was, shaking. What had he done? He just – he just killed someone. But he hadn't intentioned to do it. No, that was a lie. He had _meant_ to do it. If he hadn't Sherlock would've died. What was Sherlock doing to him? He was transforming him into a bloody murderer!

"JOHN!" Sherlock hollered, grasping the sword from the ground and fighting off the two pirates. "Damn it! Molly, take John with you now! Both of you go!"

Molly was still grasping her shoulder, but she nodded. "All right, captain," she said. She walked towards John, tugging on his arm. "John, come on, let's go."

John hesitated before he obeyed. He wobbled as he rose from the ground. He ran beside Molly, running away from the scene about to unfold.

"Where is he?" Sherlock exclaimed angrily, marching up to Molly.

Molly had gauzed her shoulder during the fight. She winced slightly as she crossed her arms. "He's resting, Sherlock. Leave him alone, will you? He's been through enough –"

"Move, Molly," Sherlock ordered, pushing his way through. He walked inside John's room, glaring at him. "Mind telling me what the hell that was?" Sherlock questioned. "Why did you disobey my orders?"

John was on a chair, a blanket wrapped around him. He glanced at Sherlock, still trembling despite the fact he had a blanket. "I – I'm sorry, Sherlock," he whispered meekly.

"You look pathetic, John!" Sherlock exclaimed, unwrapping the blanket he had on. He grasped John's arm, forcing him outside. "See this! This is what we do, John!" Sherlock said.

John looked at the scene. There lay the pirates' corpses. Some of them were cut beyond oblivion; others had broken bones and skulls. Blood, blood, was everywhere, a scarlet abyss of blood stained the floorboards. John closed his eyes, trying to force his way back into his room.

Sherlock held onto John's arm tightly, forcing him outside once more.

"Stop! _Stop_ it, Sherlock!" John pleaded, looking away from the ship. "Please!"

Sherlock grumbled angrily, forcing John against the wall.

"Sherlock!" Molly yelled angrily. "You're being too harsh on him!"

"Me? _Me_? _**He's a liar**_. Don't you dare act like you've never seen people die!" Sherlock hollered.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade murmured gravely, approaching the two. "That's enough now!"

"I've never seen people die! Nor have I killed anyone!" John protested, glaring at Sherlock. John jerked his hand, pushing Sherlock away.

Sherlock forced John against the wall once more, pinning his left hand. "That's a lie! You and Queen Ebony combined have killed over five thousand people within two years!" Sherlock explained angrily.

John's face became blank as he heard the response. He shuddered before he shook his head fiercely. "N-no! I never did such a –"

"Directly, no, you never lay a hand on someone. But indirectly, oh, John, you've murdered innocent lives. Children!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"I DIDN'T!" John said weakly. "Stop this, Sherlock. Please! This isn't funny…"

Sherlock tuned John out, staring down at him. _Stop it. Why are you staring at me like that? No one's ever looked at me like that, so why are you making such a face? What are your eyes doing? Why such an expression? Stop looking at me like that. Stop looking at me! Stop it! I SAID STOP!_

"I'm telling you, I'm not –"

Sherlock struck John across the face. John's eyes widened in disbelief as he touched his cheek. He looked down at his fingers, seeing the blood on them. He jerked his head around, facing Sherlock. He shuddered breathlessly.

Sherlock was almost as surprised as John. He didn't realize he had struck John until he noticed John's bleeding cheek. He had wondered why his cheek was bleeding until he felt his fingers sting. Quickly peaking down at his hand, he noticed a trace of blood. Why…did he smack John? He had to come up with a reason.

"Why…?" John managed, voice hoarse.

"Listen to me, John, and listen to me well," Sherlock said gravely. "Up till now, you've been thinking that being a pirate was all fun and games. But it's not. You see this," he answered, motioning to what's behind him, "this will always happen. And if you don't like it, tell me so I can find the next stop to leave you behind. Got it?"

John turned away from Sherlock, nodding his head weakly. "I-I understand, I won't make that mistake again," he murmured.

Sherlock nodded briefly, releasing his grip on John. He moved away, allowing John to go. Sherlock messed up and he knew it. Whatever they had, it was gone now.

"Talk to him," Clara hissed angrily, as she steered the ship.

"Why should I?" Sherlock questioned, crossing his arms.

"Captain, you're acting like a child. What you did was wrong. We all know that. Sure, it is possible John may have indirectly killed people, but he had no knowledge of that until you told him. Don't you remember that he's been locked inside that palace until two weeks ago?"

"And," Lestrade interrupted, marching towards them, "didn't you see his reaction to killing Morgan? He wasn't aware what he had been doing. He freaked out, Sherlock. But he did it for you. He saved you! So, shouldn't you be thanking him right now?"

"He didn't really save me. He only did it to save himself," Sherlock continued.

"Captain!" Lestrade grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "What would _he_ say to you if he was here?"

Sherlock glanced down at the ground, mumbling, "I wish you'd stop bringing him into my affairs."

"He'd have done so either way," Lestrade said.

Sherlock exhaled bitterly, biting his lower lip. "But if anything happens, it's your entire fault!" Sherlock exclaimed.

Sherlock clenched his fists as he marched towards John's room. He crossed the ship silently, trying not to make a sound. He knew it had to be around seven at night. Most of his crew had gone off to bed except for Clara and Lestrade. He wondered…was something going on between the two? No, Clara was gay, so that couldn't be true.

Sherlock stared at the door intensively as if it would decide his fate. He hesitated for a few moments before he raised his hand and silently knocked on the door. Maybe John hadn't heard him, Sherlock thought. He knocked on the door with more force this time. Or, maybe he was ignoring him. Sherlock decided on the latter.

To hell with it, since when did he respect people's privacies? Sherlock pulled out his extra key and unlocked the door. He twisted the knob, opening the door. He crept his way inside, closing the door behind him.

He analyzed the room, searching for John until he spotted him. John was lying on his bed, knees pressed against his chest. John had his head on his knees, eyes drooped closed. Sherlock huffed lightly as he marched towards John. That was no position for him to be sleeping like. He was going to be in pain when he woke up.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, beside John. "John," he murmured softly. "Wake up, John."

John opened an eye before he closed it once more. "Go away," he muttered, lying on his side, facing away from Sherlock.

"Stop acting like such a child, John," Sherlock said, clearly annoyed.

"How can I be a child? A child's never murdered anyone. A child's pure and chaste," John answered.

"You're right," Sherlock replied. "You're not a child, you're an idiot."

"Go away," John repeated.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes. "And going away is not an option," he added quickly.

John groaned, propping himself up in a sitting position. "Please, go away," John answered.

"There you go again, giving me that look again," Sherlock said bitterly.

"Look?" John questioned, furrowing his brows. "What look?"

_Shit, did I really say that?_ Sherlock thought. _No going back now._ "That look you're doing right now."

"That's how I always look, you ignorant arse!" John snapped back, crossing his arms.

"Oh?" Sherlock said, glancing at John. "I see offending me makes you feel a bit better. Go on, then, I give you my permission. Go ahead and offend me with whatever you've been meaning to tell me."

John stared at Sherlock, narrowing his eyes at him. He hesitated, unsure what game Sherlock was playing. "You're serious?" he questioned.

"Do I look like I play games?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course you play games, you bloody git! It's all for the sick satisfaction of that thrill of yours," John said.

"Bloody git? That's the first time someone's called me that," he announced, ignoring the latter part. "What else?"

John glared at Sherlock, uncrossing his arms. "This is all a game to you, isn't it? And here I thought you came here on your own accord to apologize. But I'm wrong, aren't I? You were forced to apologize, weren't you?

"You're absolutely pathetic. You don't understand what's right from wrong, and you do whatever the hell you want just to get that sick thrill of yours. I didn't want to believe her, but Donovan was right. You really are a narcissistic bastard."

"What else, John?" Sherlock encouraged with excitement. "_Oh_, I'm dying to know more!"

"You're repugnant! What is wrong with you? I used to think you were kind, despite the fact that you're a pirate. But you're exactly what the stories said that I read about you. You're a man who'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. And when you don't get what you want, you turn into a cynical arse.

"You, you're a pig. You know what they called you? They called you the Heartless Deflowerer. And I pity the people who've slept with you or were forced to. Now that I see you clearly, you're nothing more than a coward! And who longs for a coward? No one, and that's why you'll always be alone.

"Not even George could return his feelings for you. I asked Lestrade about him. He told me he had dated George since the moment he was brought onboard. And then, I understood what you told me –"

"Shut up, John," Sherlock said angrily, a frown smeared across his lips. "You don't know what you're saying! You don't –"

"No! I know what happened. I do. I understand now. George never loved you even before he brought Lestrade onboard. And thank God he never did. You're an ungrateful, selfish pig! You take what you want and do whatever you want. That is –"

Sherlock had grabbed John, forcing John below him. He pinned both of John's hands, making sure he couldn't release himself. "I said," Sherlock interrupted, voice filled with danger, "shut up."

John bit back a gulp, looking up at Sherlock. Oh, great, karma, he thought. "You said I could say whatever I wanted to say about you."

"I never said I wasn't going to punish you for it!" Sherlock declared, gripping John's wrists tightly.

John winced as he felt his wrists tightened. "Stop it!" he exclaimed angrily.

"So," Sherlock said, voice low, "you said I was a pig, right? And I was called the – what was it, John? – Heartless Deflowerer?"

Definitely, not good, John thought. He tried to loosen Sherlock's grip, but he realized that was no good. "I – Sherlock, I was just angry. I didn't –"

Before John could continue, Sherlock pressed his lips against John's. John's eyes widened in surprised from the action. He tried to move his hands, but that did him no good. He tried to scream for help, but his screams were muffled.

When Sherlock stopped for breath, John managed, "Stop it! Sherlock, I didn't –"

But once more again, Sherlock smashed his lips around John's. His lips, John thought, were warm despite his, usually, cold body. John's legs were retracting and protracting before they stopped moving, lying on the bed motionless. John found himself no longer resisting Sherlock. He began to return the kiss, trying to match Sherlock's movements.

John began to feel a soothing sensation overwhelm his body. His stomach began to twist into knots, and he suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through his body. John realized that Sherlock's hands had loosened their grip on his wrists. He had the chance now to break free. Yet, he couldn't. No, he didn't want to. John moved one of his hands and placed it on Sherlock's shoulder, but Sherlock had forced John's hand on the bed once more, thinking he had different intentions.

Sherlock bucked into John, causing John's eyes to widen once more. A groan escaped John's lips from the sudden contact. Wait, what was he feeling? Was this…?

John's thoughts were broken upon hearing Sherlock say, "Open your mouth."

When had he stopped kissing him? John shook the thought away, answering, "Wha -?"

Sherlock had dove back down, kissing John. This kiss, John thought, was different. It was no longer chaste. What was Sherlock doing? His tongue was entangling itself with John's. John couldn't bite back the moan he had been repressing. It soon escaped through his lips. Sherlock tilted his head, looking for a better angle to kiss John. They were interrupted, though, by the door banging open.

"What the hell are you doing to him, Sherlock?" exclaimed Lestrade.

Sherlock immediately stopped, jerking his head up to look at Lestrade. "I – it's not what it looks like!" Sherlock stammered.

"Oh, really?" Lestrade questioned, crossing his arms at Sherlock. "Get off of him, Sherlock! _Now_!"

Sherlock looked down at John, his eyes. Damn it! Why was he still looking at him like that? Even after he… And still, with those eyes, he looks at him like that. Sherlock hesitated before he rose from the bed, standing on his feet.

"Sorry," he murmured to John, before walking out the door.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" John questioned, looking at Sherlock.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Sherlock asked, tilting the wheel to the right.

"For the past three days, you've been avoiding me," John said.

Sherlock sneered, shaking his head. "We've been busy for the past three days," Sherlock replied.

"Oh, bullshit, Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"John, remember when I said to not think yourself special, this is what I meant by that," Sherlock explained.

"Then what am I," John said, "a substitute for George?"

Sherlock gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. He exhaled bitterly before he turned his attention to John.

"Why would I consider something like that?" Sherlock asked.

"If I shouldn't think myself special in any way, then I – at least – think you mean by mutual feelings. Is that all I am to you? A toy you can play with? A toy you can pretend is another that you lost? Because I'll be having none of that!" John replied angrily.

"Why are you sputtering nonsense?" Sherlock questioned.

"I explained to you before that I already know what happened between you and George. You were in love with him, but he loved Lestrade. So, you needed a substitute. And –"

"John, get it through your thick skull that you're not a substitute for George or anyone for that matter!" Sherlock hissed angrily.

"Then why did you –?"

"Because I wanted to teach you a lesson, that's all," Sherlock exclaimed, "a punishment that you can't say anything without there being consequences. And where the hell are you getting substitute from? Did someone say something to you?"

John shook his head. "No, no one said anything. I thought of it –"

"Then you should stop thinking of things like that –"

"You have his picture," John announced, closing his eyes.

"What?" Sherlock questioned. "What are you talking about?"

"George's, I went into your room yesterday and I saw a frame of his face. I later discovered that you took it from Lestrade. Well, he doesn't know you have it, so you stole it rather," John said.

"John, stop it or you'll find yourself a grave man," Sherlock answered.

"No, Sherlock. I'm not going to stop because I'm done with the lies," John replied. "You're just scared of what I'm going to find out."

"What do you want?" Sherlock questioned seriously.

"The truth," John said.

"About what?"

"You and George," John finished.

"There's nothing, John, absolutely nothing."

"Oh, no, Sherlock, I don't think that's true now," John said.

Sherlock huffed irritably. "Why are you so keen in finding out?"

John chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "I see the way your expression gets when someone mentions him. It looks painful. And I never knew I could ever meet a man more distressed and hurt than myself," John explained silently, glancing down at his boots.

Sherlock remained silent, clenching his fists. He exhaled bitterly, saying, "You're not going to like what I'm going to say."

John shrugged. "I've heard worse."

Sherlock nodded his head silently, grasping John's arm and tugging on it. He led John to his room, making sure he locked the door after John. He turned around, finding John holding a frame.

"This is him, right?" John asked.

Sherlock resisted the urge to say anything. Instead, he sat on his bed, hands clasped together. "Listen, John," he began, after a long pause, "I would never, _ever_, treat anyone as a substitute…especially in _that_ sort of way. And the reason being, I…was a substitute, George's, to put it more clearly.

John raised a brow at Sherlock, placing the frame back on the table. "Wait, didn't you say that George was twice your age?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded his head slowly.

"W-when and how old were you exactly?" John questioned.

"I was sixteen, almost three years passed since we defeated the Bluebeard Brother. George was the captain and I was his secondhand man. By then, Clara, Anderson, and Dimmock had joined the crew. But, that didn't matter to George. He would always talk to me about Lestrade.

"Before he had joined the Bluebeard Brothers, he and Lestrade were secret lovers. Of course, there were two problems with that: one, they were men, and two, Lestrade came from aristocracy family while George was lower-middle class. Eventually, Lestrade's parents found out about their intimacy. Surprisingly, they didn't mind it. What they did mind was that George was poor. And they didn't want George to 'bring down' Lestrade, so they didn't approve of the relationship.

"Now, George was in desperate need to find a way to make quick money. And what does the git think of? He thinks of pirating. He joined the Bluebeard Brothers the moment they had landed shore. Soon enough, George had made decent amount of money for him and Lestrade to have a proper life. But when he discovered he could never leave the crew, George was stuck with them forever. It was either stay or die.

"And so, when I revolted, George decided to take his chance. Obviously, you know what happens next. So, back to three years later, of course George had thought about going to Lestrade. But Lestrade, upon discovering that George had become a pirate, shunned and ignored him. Lestrade was a police official at the time, so you can see the conflict.

"Now, George would always tell me how he missed and 'desired' Lestrade. And, at the time, I was so in love and so naïve that _**I**_ suggested something foolish. I suggested that we…we have sex. George, of course, was opposed to the whole idea. But I insisted. I explained how he would be blindfolded and I would do the rest. He could pretend that he was with Lestrade instead of me.

"Well, I convinced him. I finally did. I-I was happy when he finally agreed because I actually thought that if we were to have sex, he'd love me."

"But that wasn't the case, was it?" John asked, uncrossing his arms. While Sherlock had been talking, John was silent, listening intently to every word that was coming out of his mouth. His eyes widened or narrowed occasionally as Sherlock explained. At last, he stared at Sherlock sadly, features on his face softening.

Sherlock shook his head quickly.

"You can stop, Sherlock. If it's bothering you, you don't have to continue," John answered, walking towards him.

"What's the point? I've told you this far, why stop now?" Sherlock replied, looking up at John.

"Because it's painful for you to remember it," John said. He hesitated before he took the seat next to Sherlock. He exhaled silently, nodding his head. "If you want to continue it, then please do. I'll listen."

Sherlock stared at John, quirking a brow. He sighed before he nodded. "All right, then," Sherlock said. He clenched his fists unsure how to explain the next and final sentences.

John noticed Sherlock was debating with himself inwardly. He dropped his lids, whispering, "Sherlock, you don't –"

"Near the end of… Well, you know. I can't deny that I wasn't enjoying it. I liked it a lot, actually. But…George, he said something, a name. The name he said wasn't my name. He said Lestrade's. I mean, I should've known that since I told him to think of Lestrade, but I – I just thought," Sherlock pondered, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what I could've expected. I instantly regretted it afterwards since I had given up the most important thing people held on to. I felt like an idiot. I felt dirty. Yet, I still couldn't help but love George. The thing is I never felt that feeling with anyone except with George. So, I'm not even sure if I…

"Look at you," Sherlock said, chuckling as he turned to stare at John. "Stop making that face. You look so ridiculous right now!" Sherlock had been feigning a smile, but that smile slowly started to disappear. "Stop it, John! I mean it! Stop looking at me like that! Do you have any idea how irritating that makes me?"

John shook his head slowly. "Sherlock, I-I'm so sorry. I take it all back. Everything that I said to you three days ago, I take it back. I didn't mean it. I was just angry that you weren't sparing my feelings."

"Stop it, John," Sherlock ordered fiercely, glaring at him.

John bit his lip, shaking his head slowly. "Sherlock, you didn't know. You were too young to understand. So, please," John explained, "don't think that you're –"

Sherlock forced John on the bed again, pinning his arms once more. He looked down at John, gazing into his eyes. _Why are you looking at me like that? I observe the way you look at everyone else on this ship. It's a completely different gaze, so why am I the only one that gets this expression from you?_ "D-do you actually hate me that much?" Sherlock stammered, resting his head on John's chest.

John was dumbfounded by the whole situation. One minute he was telling Sherlock something, the next he was laying on Sherlock's bed like the other time, and now, he was pondering over Sherlock's question. Before John could even analyze the situation, Sherlock had his head on his chest.

"What reason have you given me to hate you?" John replied softly, as he felt Sherlock loosen his grip on his wrists.

He heard Sherlock scoff. He practically imagined him rolling his eyes at the same moment as well. "It'd be a shorter list if I were to tell you what I haven't done to you," Sherlock murmured.

"You're right, John. Everything you said about me was correct," Sherlock finished.

John exhaled shakily, shaking his head. "I don't believe that's true, Sherlock. I misunderstood everything about you. But who wouldn't misjudge you when you only show us your external self? It's as if you don't want anybody to see who you really are."

"That's because I don't," Sherlock mumbled.

John felt his shirt dampen and closed his eyes. Is this how love looked like to people who suffer through unrequited love? John hesitated, debating whether it'd be okay if he held Sherlock. John's arms trembled as they reached for Sherlock's back. He gently placed his arms around Sherlock, tightening his grip around him afterwards.

"I understand, and I can see why you would do it," John said later. "But, I think it'd be okay if you let one person in, just one. Just one person who you can vent your problems or be yourself to. So, if you do decide to do something of the sort, can you pick me?"

Sherlock's eyes widened as he listened to John. He clutched onto John's shirt, unsure what to do. But as much as he tried to force away his tears, they seemed to continue to stream down his face. God, he felt pathetic.

John crept out of the room silently. He had stayed with Sherlock until he was certain he had fallen asleep. John closed the door behind him, exhaling bitterly.

"John?" questioned a voice.

John looked up, noticing Lestrade. Oh, god, no. The events from today flooded back to John, and he felt his stomach constrict itself. John felt like he was going to hurl.

"What were you doing in Sherlock's room? And at this hour?" Lestrade asked, blinking at John blankly.

"Lestrade," John said, stalking up to him. "You were with George right?"

"Right, why do you ask?" Lestrade questioned.

"I'm begging you, so please tell me if you know, do you think George loved Sherlock?" John replied desperately.

Lestrade furrowed his brows together, puzzled. "What?" he answered. But upon seeing John's facial expression, he sighed, "Well, I do think George loved Sherlock, of course. But I think he looked at Sherlock as his younger brother or, even, his son. He always took care of Sherlock. He cared about him. We both did. George would always joke that Sherlock was our teenage son."

John smiled faintly, nodding his head. Yep, he definitely wanted to hurl. "Right," he mumbled. "You really loved him, didn't you?"

Lestrade nodded. "I still do, and I always will. Though I do think I should start moving on and find someone. I just can't bring myself to do that to him. But I grateful to Sherlock," Lestrade continued. "If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here."

"What're you talking about?" John questioned.

"He never told you? I thought so. But when I was thirty-two, Sherlock had abducted me so I could be with George. I didn't like it at first, but I quickly learned to accept it," Lestrade explained.

"Lestrade, can you help clarify something for me?" John asked.

"Sure, what is it?" Lestrade answered.

"Sherlock mentioned a couple of weeks ago that you could've easily become captain when George died. Why didn't you become captain?" he asked.

Lestrade shook his head silently. "Between you and me – and don't tell Sherlock – I was always rubbish at giving out orders. I'm good at following them. Sherlock, on the other hand, knew what to do and what he wanted to do. And plus, he was one of the original crewmates, so he had the most experience. I thought it'd be better for him to be captain," Lestrade explained.

John's smile broadened at the response and nodded. "Thank you, Lestrade," John said.

"For what?" Lestrade asked.

"For always being there for him," John answered.

"What?" he questioned.

"Anyways, I'm tired. So, goodnight, Lestrade," John replied, marching his way to his room, leaving Lestrade baffled.

John stretched as he got out of his bed. Geez, what time was it? John made his way to his closet, changing into his clothes. He made his bed and made his way out.

The first thing John noticed were Sally and Anderson bickering. They had been arguing for the past week. John wondered if they were going to break up. Hopefully not or Anderson would want his room back again.

John looked over at Clara, who was steering. Dimmock was sweeping the floors, grumbling angrily since he had been demoted. Molly was still resting from her injury, John assumed.

Finally, John spotted Sherlock, who was talking to Lestrade. Sherlock had something in his hands before he handed it to Lestrade. Lestrade looked down at it, smiling faintly. John knitted his brows. What was Sherlock giving Lestrade?

Sherlock glanced towards John's direction, noticing him. He grinned at John. Sherlock looked briefly at Lestrade, excusing himself. He walked towards John, smile reappearing.

John raised a brow. What was going on? Did he miss happy hour or something? "What was that about?" John asked Sherlock, as he stopped in front of him.

"I returned Lestrade his picture of George," Sherlock answered simply.

John's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Well, why would you do that?" John asked.

"Because I no longer have a use for it," Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

"What? I don't follow," John murmured.

"Honestly, John, must I explain everything to you?" Sherlock questioned, rolling his eyes at him.

_And he's back to his normal self_, John thought, grinning like an idiot.

"What?" Sherlock asked, staring at John.

"No, it's…nothing," John said.

**A/N:** I apologize if this chapter was disturbing. Also, I know it was a bit rough and all. Also, I would like to ask, because it all depends on you all, to tell me what would you like to happen. Would you like to see John's and Sherlock's relationship turn romance-y or just flat out smut?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Turn of Events**

**A/N: I can't say I'm not nervous. This chapter is **_**now**_** the fantasy side of the genre I had tagged this story as. I just hope you all find fantasy okay. That is all.**

John exhaled bitterly as he wiped drops of sweat, glistening on his brow. _Well, that was tedious_, he thought. He marched over to the forecastle deck, creeping up the stairs. He felt a swirl of wind graze his face. He stopped just before the bowsprit, examining the view.

The sun was barely ascending through the currents, giving the ocean a mixture of apricot and violet hue. Clouds covered the sky, not a shade of blue was to be seen. John smiled faintly as he leaned against the bowsprit.

Geez, it wasn't even six in the morning and he was already exhausted. Sherlock had ordered the crew to clean up the ship. He even meant him! He wasn't even a part of the crew. But Sherlock had said, "You need to exercise. You're looking a bit frail."

"Jerk," mumbled John, as he sighed.

John heard patter of steps ascending the stairs, and he straightened himself. He looked behind him, seeing Sherlock. _Speak of the devil_, he thought.

"Did you finish mopping the –?"

"Yes," John interrupted bitterly. "I've also finished washing the dishes and sorting out that mess you call your room."

"Ah, yes, yes," Sherlock said awkwardly. "Good."

_Did he make his way just to ask me that? _"Uh, so, where are we going now?" John asked.

"Pardon?" Sherlock replied.

"Well, we're slowing down instead of increasing speed," John began. "It's obvious we're landing somewhere."

"Oh, right, right," Sherlock answered. "Yes, we are landing. No, I'm not going to tell you where or where it's at."

"What? And why not?" John questioned, knitting his brows.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Sherlock replied simply, a smirk forming on his lips.

John narrowed his eyes at the taller man. He detested that look Sherlock gave him when he knew something he didn't. John huffed angrily, crossing his arms at him.

"You know, I thought that, after being here for nearly two months, I'd be treated as a part of this crew," John said.

Sherlock's smirk widened as he heard John's response. He shook his head lightly. "John, believe me when I say this, you're being treated like _royalty_ on this ship. Even Lestrade doesn't get this type of treatment," he answered.

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock, uncrossing his arms. "How long until we land?" he asked.

"Probably in twenty minutes or so," Sherlock said.

"Why are we landing? Aren't we risking our lives if we're on land?" John continued.

"That's the exciting part," Sherlock answered.

"And that's all? Just stepping off for a thrill?" John replied, puzzled.

"I also have some business to attend to," Sherlock replied.

"Which is…?"

"Why are you so keen to know what I'm doing?" Sherlock questioned, quirking a brow.

"Can't I ask a simple question without being persecuted for it?" he snapped back.

"Not if you're going to tell Ebony!" Sherlock blurted.

John's face fell as he stared at Sherlock. _Still_? He was still being questioned on whether his story was true or false? John hadn't noticed his mouth was agape, clasping it shut again. He shook his head.

"John, it's not that I don't –"

"No, it's…fine," John interrupted. "I get it. You have to be precautious. I-I better go. I need to check up on Molly and see how she's doing."

"John –"

"I'll see you, captain," John murmured.

John turned around, quickly descending the stairs. He ignored Sherlock as he tried to distance himself from him. John climbed down the stairs until he was at the very bottom of the ship. He found Molly, exhaling in relief.

"John, what brings you down here?" she asked, smiling at him. "Does Sherlock need something?"

John shook his head vigorously. "I just wanted to see how things were going," he answered.

"Ah, well, as you can see, things are pretty…dead," she said.

John half-smiled at Molly's attempt at a joke. "Why don't you ever come up?" he asked.

"Ah, please. I'm no pirate, honestly. I'm just their nurse," she replied.

"More like a doctor," John answered.

"I try to be modest," she said. "But, the thing is, it's just me. If something were to happen to me, then who will take care of the crew if they ever get hurt?"

"Maybe you should teach someone, a pupil," John replied.

"Please, Sherlock won't let me bring anymore people onboard. He says that there are already enough mouths to feed, why bring in more?"

_Stop it. Stop saying his name. All I can think about are his words from earlier. Does he really find me that deceitful? Does he really hate me? Am I just another mouth to feed to him? I have proven to be more capable than most of the crewmembers on this ship. So why…? Why am I being given the cold shoulder after everything I've done for him? After I let him take advantage of me? After I listened to his history with George? After I let him cry on my shoulder?_

"John? Are you all right, John?" Molly murmured, showing obvious concern.

"I am, I was just thinking that maybe you should…teach me," John blurted.

"Teach…you…?" Molly questioned, knitting her brows together.

"Yes," John said, nodding his head quickly, "since you're so concerned for the crew's wellbeing, you should teach me."

"I don't know, John," Molly began. "I'll have to consult Sher–"

"It'll put you at ease!" John insisted. "And plus, I doubt anyone else on this ship will volunteer to do this."

Molly exhaled silently, debating whether she should teach John. After a brief pause, she stared at him. She smiled at him, nodding her head.

"All right, John," Molly answered. "So, let's get to the basics. I'm going to show you every instrument and what their uses are."

John nodded his head. Well, he might be of some use after all.

"Anchor!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Anderson, drop the anchor! God, you're useless. Dimmock, help him will you?"

Sherlock glanced at the two men, then glanced upwards. They were nearing their destination, a dark, purplish cave. As the ship slipped inside the cave, Sherlock ordered them to fully drop the anchor. In a flash, they were surrounded in lightlessness, showing an endless abyss of darkness. The only thing Sherlock heard was the crashing and splashing noises from the anchor as it hit the water.

Sherlock stared at the two men before he stalked off, walking to the left side of the ship. He looked overboard, seeing two small boats attached to the ship.

"Clara, Lestrade, and Sally, come help me haul the boats down," Sherlock ordered.

"What?" Sally questioned. "What about that brat? He's supposed to help as well."

"Sally, refrain from insulting him while I'm around," Sherlock snapped back coldly. "He's busy helping Molly. Now, we can't disturb those two, can we? Help then!"

Sally closed her mouth, glaring at Sherlock. She uncrossed her arms as she began untying part of the rope. When they all untied the ropes, they grasped them quickly, as the weight from the boat came crashing down. Immediately, the boat halted, since it's supported by the ropes.

"Okay, let's slowly and gently, lower the boat," Sherlock said.

They did what they were told, silently lowering the small boat onto the river. The four repeated the process for the second boat until it was beside the first boat.

"Good!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Bring the ropes back in and secure them! I'll go fetch John…and Molly!" he added hastily.

Sherlock crossed the ship until he spotted the door on the floor. He opened the door and crossed down the stairs. He had finally made his way to the basement floor. Sherlock neared a door near the back of the room, knocking on it.

He watched as the doorknob twisted and opened. But his face seemed to fall when he realized it was Molly.

"Captain?" she questioned.

"Molly, we've just landed. We need to get going now," Sherlock answered.

"Oh! All right," Molly whispered, walking out the room.

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked her, peaking through the doorway. "Oh, there you are. Come on, let's go."

John was sitting on a stool, intently looking at a page. It appeared to John that this actually interested him. He never knew that _this_ was what Mike actually did! He looked up at Sherlock as he heard his name being called.

"Go? Go where?" he asked.

"Come on, we've reached the destination, let's go," Sherlock repeated.

"No, I think I'm fine here," John answered, shaking his head slowly.

In truth, John wanted to go. But he just couldn't bear looking at him. Not after… He was being pathetic and a baby, but he didn't care. Sherlock really hurt him… To hell with him!

Sherlock tilted his head, furrowing his brows at John. "Come, now, John. It'll be fun," Sherlock said. "Besides, I can't leave you alone here."

John snapped his head back at Sherlock, glaring at him. He closed the book shut, dust appearing as he did so. He stood on his feet, placing the book back onto the table.

"Right, I understand. You don't trust the fact that I'll take over the ship and go straight to Ebony if I'm alone," John answered, walking past Sherlock.

Sherlock's mouth hanged open as he stared at John in disbelief. Okay, he was acting like a child now. He grasped John's elbow, forcing John against the wall. John's head began to throb as it banged against the hard surface.

"What're you doing?" John exclaimed, angrily.

"John, what I said before, you've got it wrong!" Sherlock replied, pinning John's arm against the wall.

"Then what is it? Am I too much of a bother to you? Another mouth to feed –"

"No!"

"You said so yourself to Lestrade –"

"That was then, John, I –"

"How is it any different?" John exclaimed.

Sherlock stopped for a moment to breathe. He stared down at John, panting as he did so. Once he caught his breath, Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder.

"What –? What are you doing?" John questioned, feeling his cheeks flush scarlet.

"Why do you always have to make yourself the victim in situations like this? _I_ should be the victim after what you've done," Sherlock murmured.

"You're not making any sense!" John said. "What have I done to you?"

"I would like to know that as well," Sherlock hummed, letting go of John's arm. He placed his arm on John's remaining shoulder.

"If you don't even know, then how do you know I have wronged you?" John asked bitterly.

"Wronged? Who said you wronged me?" Sherlock replied.

"You just said that you were –"

"Why do you assume that it's something negative? Stop putting yourself down," Sherlock answered.

"Sherlock, are you drunk?" John questioned.

"It isn't fair," Sherlock whispered, in John's ear.

John felt his face grow a deeper shade of scarlet from the motion. His heart began to hammer in his ribcage as he felt Sherlock's breath.

"W-what isn't fair?" John stammered.

"How easily you can turn me into nothing," Sherlock replied.

John knitted his brows together, glancing sideways to try and catch a glimpse of Sherlock's face. But he couldn't. His face was hidden by the wall and his shoulder.

"You just waltz right in through my barriers without so much as dropping a sweat. It's not fair," Sherlock said.

John attempted to move, saying, "Sherlock, maybe we should get going."

Sherlock's eyes widened at the response. Damn it, please, he didn't just confess all those things to him! Sherlock jerked away from John, staggering backwards. He turned away from John, clearing his throat.

"Y-yes! Now, that you've calmed down, let's go," Sherlock said hastily.

Without waiting for John to reply, he began to march towards the stairs. John's heart stopped abruptly. Stupid. _Stupid_! He was just trying to soothe his nerves by acting like an idiot. He wasn't showing him any kind of… John clenched his fists angrily, following Sherlock.

"What took you two so long?" Clara asked, smirking at Sherlock. "Busy doing…something?"

"Clara, stop reading _those_ books. It's obviously rotting your brain," Sherlock replied.

Clara's smirk fell as she glared at Sherlock. She crossed her arms, huffing. She walked to the side of the ship, climbing down the ladder.

"Why is it so dark?" John asked, as he made it to the surface.

"We're in a cave," Sherlock answered. "Come on, we have to climb down the ladder."

"I can't see anything," John confessed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, walking towards John. He clasped his hand with John's. "Let's go," he said, pulling John's arm.

John's face reddened as he felt Sherlock's fingers entwine with his. "I think I can manage on my own!" he protested.

"Oh, I think not," Sherlock answered. "Follow my lead."

John groaned irritably as he obeyed Sherlock. He felt his heart race once more as he felt the warmth coming from Sherlock's hand. John's stomach twisted into knots when he felt Sherlock grip his hand tightly. Wait, was he even allowed to feel this way? Better yet, just what was he feeling? He never felt this way, _never_.

John's heart slowed as he felt Sherlock loosen his grip on him. He was letting him go! John nearly gripped Sherlock's hand in protest before he stopped himself. _Stop it! You're being pathetic._

"Can you see now?" Sherlock asked, looking beside the ship.

John nodded his head silently, locating the ladder and the two boats below.

"All right, then," Sherlock said. "Climb down, I'll go after you."

John obeyed, swinging one leg out of the ship and keeping a firm grip on the ship. He climbed down until he was boarded onto the second ship that contained Molly and Lestrade. Sherlock joined him, sitting across from him.

"Let's go," Sherlock answered.

Lestrade gripped the two oars of the boat, rowing them. Anderson did the same from the first boat. John looked at, what could be, the entrance of the cave, seeing the small rays of sunlight. He stared intently, smiling. Suddenly, John felt a presence above him, glancing upwards.

"Well, you're cheerful," Sherlock answered, looking down at him.

John flushed once more, unable to contain his happiness. "It's just-just that I've never seen anything like it," John said.

Sherlock smiled down at John, nodding his head slowly. He placed his hand on John's shoulder, gripping it gently.

"You'll like the place more where we're going," Sherlock answered.

John's smile broadened as he nodded. "I'll take your word for it," he said.

As the boats neared the exit of the cave, more and more beams of sunlight became visible. And soon enough, John could see the outside of the cave. John had to close his eyes as the sun loomed brightly over him, blinding him. Once his eyes adjusted, John stopped blinking his eyes. He heard birds squawking, and he watched the circle in the sky and then disperse.

"Amazing," John murmured.

The moment the boats landed on shore, Sherlock hopped off. He paced back and forth until his legs regained their stability. He walked back to the boats, seeing that Lestrade was tying the boats to a giant boulder. Sherlock watched John struggle to get off, as the boats continued to rock to and fro. Sherlock approached the edge of the boat, offering his hand to John.

"What?" John questioned, staring at Sherlock's hand.

"Let me help you out," Sherlock explained.

John hesitated, quirking a brow, before he took Sherlock's hand. He hopped out of the boat, onto the shore. He nearly stumbled as the boat rocked forward in that moment.

"Thank you," John stammered, looking away from Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Clara, who giggled at them.

"Now," Sherlock said, clasping his hands together, "let's get going. I'll be going out to attend my affairs. You all can go off to wherever you'd please, so long as you keep a low profile."

"Come, John, let's go," Sherlock said, staggering his way through the sand.

"What?" Lestrade questioned.

Sherlock stopped, turning to stare at him. "Problem?" Sherlock asked.

"Umm, you always take me to your affairs," Lestrade answered.

Sherlock nodded his head, saying, "And the problem is?"

"Well, err, I don't know," Lestrade said. "I guess it's out of habit."

"I can stay behind. I don't mind," John replied, staring at them both.

"No, you _must_ come with me," Sherlock said, grasping John's elbow and pulling him along.

"Sorry Lestrade," John muttered, giving him a quick glace before looking back at Sherlock.

"So, where exactly are we?" John asked, glancing around the streets.

"Shh, almost there," Sherlock replied.

After several minutes, Sherlock stopped moving. John noticed a small apartment-like building just a few feet in front of them. "Is this it?" John asked silently, glancing at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled, turning his direction to John. "It is," he whispered. He grasped John's hand, tugging him along up the stairs. Sherlock released John's hand, knocking on the door.

"Who are we meeting?" John asked.

"Shh," Sherlock said.

The green door opened creakily, and a woman came out. She had light blonde hair and dark eyes. She was an elderly woman, but she didn't seem so worn and fragile.

"Sherlock!" exclaimed the woman, opening her arms to him.

Sherlock allowed the woman to embrace him, putting his arms around her. "Mrs. Hudson, it's been a while since I've seen you!" he replied.

Mrs. Hudson released Sherlock from her arms, noticing John. "So, the rumors are true! In, _in_!" she said, hastily.

The two men were ushered inside, and once inside, Mrs. Hudson pulled on Sherlock's ear.

"Ow! What are you doing? Let go!" he exclaimed.

Mrs. Hudson stopped, shaking her head at Sherlock. "The things you've done Sherlock, this one is by far the worst! Do you know how serious this is?" she cried.

"It's my fault, Mrs. Hudson," John replied.

Mrs. Hudson focused her attention on John now. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"I begged Sherlock to keep me with him," John explained. "I do not wish to return home. I can't, please understand that."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes softened as she listened to John, nodding her head silently. "Do you know how dangerous this is, child?" she asked. "Do you know how much trouble you've put Sherlock in?"

"I know and I'm sorry," John said. "But I can't return. If I do, it'll be the end of me."

"Hush, now, child," Mrs. Hudson answered. "You're all shaken up. What has Sherlock done to you?"

"Nothing, he's done nothing to me," John fibbed, smiling at her.

Mrs. Hudson believed him, nodding her head. "Well, what brings you two here?" she asked.

"I just came to check on you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock replied, taking a seat by the couch. He motioned John to sit next to him, patting the empty seat next to him.

John hesitated before he sat next to him.

"That's all?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Of course, why else should I come here for? This may be the last time I see you," he explained.

"Why do you say that?" she questioned, looking obviously concerned.

"I'm taking John far away where he'll be protected. I'm not sure if we'll get there but it's the best course of action for him," Sherlock explained.

"What?" John whispered, staring at Sherlock in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Mrs. Hudson noticed John's confusion and asked, "You never told him what you were planning on doing?"

"Eventually," Sherlock said simply.

"And when were you planning to tell me?" John questioned.

"When we got there, of course," Sherlock replied.

"So, what is your plan exactly?" John muttered angrily.

"When we got to your destination, I was going to drop you off and leave you there," Sherlock answered.

"So, that's what happens to us – me!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock glanced at John, staring into his eyes. "What did you expect to happen? If I continue to stay around you, I'll do and so will the crew."

John's complexion paled at the explanation. "Right, I was just thinking that… Forget it, just hurry up and drop me off already!" John sputtered, crossing his arms.

"John, do you think it's easy for me? It's already hard enough for me to even think about it!" Sherlock exclaimed.

John looked up at Sherlock in disbelief. He uncrossed his arms, desperately repressing the urge to flush.

"W-what I-I mean to say," Sherlock stammered, realizing what he had just said. "It's not that I'll miss you, it's just that I'll lose an extra hand to…"

Mrs. Hudson tuned out the two men. She stared at the two in interest, hand on her cheek. She couldn't help but smile at the scene. _Now, those two,_ she thought. _It would be nice to see Sherlock have someone._

"I said forget it!" John groaned, huffing irritably. _Stupid! Stop it. You're making yourself look like an idiot. Stop feeling this to him._

"Sherlock, can you fetch me my thimbles?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Huh?" he said, staring in her direction. "Oh, sure, where are they?"

"They're in my room upstairs," she answered.

"I'll be back in a few moments," Sherlock announced, rising from the couch.

Sherlock crossed the room, climbing up the stairs. John had watched him leave and ascend the stairs until he lost sight of him. He returned his attention to Mrs. Hudson.

"Tea, dear?" she offered.

"No, thank you, I'm fine," John said.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

"About what?" John questioned, quirking a brow.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson.

"Uhh, he's stubborn," John began awkwardly. "And he can be a total pain the arse. He's always taking things serious. 'No, John, turn the wheel two millimeters to the right. Can't you do one blasted thing?' Sherlock's always nagging me to clean up for him and clean up the ship. Do you have any idea how filthy that ship is? No, better question, do you have any idea how filthy his room is? How can such a small room be so cluttered and messy?" John explained.

Mrs. Hudson nodded throughout John's explanation, her smile growing. "But…?" she asked, as John came to a close.

"But…?" John answered, looking down at his hands. "But he's a kind person. Even though he pretends to be an arrogant arse, he's actually a…fragile person. He's been hurt a lot, so what he shows us is only a mirage. He hides his true form because he's afraid of getting hurt again. Though I've been keeping an eye on him, I can hardly ever get past his charade of an external shell he puts on.

"I just can't. He let me in once and it was absolutely painful, yet, blissful at the same time. No more lies, no more tricks, no more pretenses, I saw it all in a few minutes. I loved it as much as I equally hated it. I want to help him. Not because I-I have feelings for him, but because he was a much better person when he didn't hide away his emotions. In short, what I'm trying to say is that –"

"You're in love with him," Mrs. Hudson finished.

John stared at her in bewilderment, eyes wide. He shook his head vigorously, flushing. "I-I don't! Why would I? It's wrong and –"

"How is it wrong?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Because, he's a –"

"A man, it doesn't make a difference. Love is in any shape or form. Love is love. Don't deny yourself," she answered.

John chuckled awkwardly, shaking his head. "I swear, you've got it wrong," John said.

"Whatever, love, I won't press you on it," she replied.

John heard footsteps approaching the stairs, and soon enough, he saw Sherlock. Sherlock handed Mrs. Hudson the thimbles, sitting beside John again. They were closer this time, knees touching.

_He didn't…love Sherlock, right? No, she's got it wrong. She's just trying to mess with you, John,_ he thought. Even still, John stared at Sherlock, noticing how his eyes were changing colors each time he turned his attention to something.

After an hour or so, Sherlock bid Mrs. Hudson adieu. He kissed her cheek quickly before returning his attention to John. "Let's go," he whispered.

John smiled, nodding his head slowly. He glanced at Mrs. Hudson, noticing her smile. John's smile quickly disappeared as he stared at her. "G-goodbye, Mrs. Hudson, do take care," he replied.

Mrs. Hudson said nothing but she watched the two leave, closing the door behind her.

"So, you travelled all this way just to see her?" John asked.

"Of course, why else would I come to France for?" Sherlock blurted, as they turned a corner.

"We're in France?" John questioned, eyes beaming.

"Now, I have to kill you," Sherlock mused, pushing John against the wall.

"But you won't," John said, looking up at Sherlock.

"Well, what's stopping me from doing so?" Sherlock continued, facing John at eye level.

"I would say Ebony would kill you, but you'd still do it for a thrill if I remember correctly. But, that's not the case now."

"No?" Sherlock said, tilting his head.

John shook his head. "No," he began, placing a hand on Sherlock's neck, "your conscious is the thing that won't let you." He was moving impulsively. His body wouldn't refuse anymore. His body was acting on its own accord now. John no longer had control.

"And why's that?" Sherlock asked, leaning closer to John's face.

"You'd miss the thrill," John replied, closing the gap between them.

"What are you two doing?" screamed a voice. "And in public!"

John and Sherlock turned their attention to the voice. "Get out if you don't wish to see it then," Sherlock said simply, looking back at John.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" questioned the voice.

"No, who do you think you are?" Sherlock snapped back angrily.

"I'm a police officer!" the man said.

That brought Sherlock's attention now. He looked at the officer then at John. Sherlock grasped John's arm, forcing him along. "Let's go!" he exclaimed.

"Stop! Police!" the man shrieked.

Sherlock and John began to run away from the location, dashing into the streets. Sherlock released John hand sprinting down an alley. "This way!" he said.

Geez, his emotions was getting the best out of him, John thought. He ran alongside Sherlock until Sherlock abruptly turned left.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

"I haven't got the slightest idea!" Sherlock replied.

Sherlock saw an underground tunnel and smirked. He dashed towards the tunnel, saying, "Over here, John!"

John groaned before he obeyed, running inside the tunnel. Immediately, they were engulfed by darkness. Nothing could be seen, but they both heard their pants. Sherlock could no longer hear the policemen, which was a good sign. He also began to see a faint light approaching, meaning they were nearing their exit.

"We're almost there, John!" Sherlock shouted, behind his shoulder.

But it was futile because John was no longer near him. Someone had grabbed John and knocked him unconscious.

When John opened his eyes, he felt his head throbbing in pain. He groaned as he tried to touch his head. But he realized he couldn't. John looked at his hands, realizing they were both chained by a railing. John rose to his feet, moving a few meters until he crashed on the floor. He felt weak. What had happened to him? All he remembered was running away from the police and running into that tunnel.

Where was he? John looked around the room. The floor was constructed by black tiles, which were extremely dusty and dirty. The wall was a dark shade of blue, which happened to be faded and dusty. Cobwebs lay everywhere whether it was on the walls or floor. There was a metal door that was obviously bolted.

Suddenly, the door clicked and creaked noisily. John gasped, cowering against the wall again. John saw a man come inside. The man pushed the door gently closed, turning around to face John.

"No, I'm not going to hurt you in any shape or form," the man announced.

The man was supporting his weight against an umbrella. How the umbrella didn't snap was a mystery to John. The man had dark brown hair, combed to the side. He was in a gray suit that looked expensive, and he was wearing a sapphire tie. His shoes were made of leather and were brown. He had a golden Albert chain tucked inside his waist coat.

"Now," the man said, clasping his hands together, "how are you feeling? Has the sedative gone away?"

John stared at the man, debating whether he should say anything. "Why am I here?" John demanded.

"Here? I need to meet with Sherlock, and it's utterly impossible to schedule a meeting with him," the man explained.

"What the hell does that have to do with me?" John snapped back angrily.

"The thing is I need you as leverage. I think it'd be foolish to wait for a long time just so he wouldn't show. I needed you to bring him here," the man replied simply, looking down at his umbrella.

"If you so much as hurt him –"

"Why must you think I'll do something negative. Sure, I ordered you abducted, but does that really make me a bad person?" the man asked. "But, my, my, you're so loyal to him already? Aren't you two supposed to be enemies since he's a menace to your country?"

"What?" John exclaimed.

"I know who you are, Prince John. And it is my duty to know that," he replied.

"Who…are you?" John asked.

"That's not important currently," the man said. "But…you can say I work under Her Majesty. And, it is my duty to return you safely to her."

John's eyes widened at the response. "Please, I beg of you, don't send me back to her! You don't know what she's like!"

"On the contrary, I do. I know Her Majesty better than you yourself. I know her interests and know what she thinks," he explained.

"Then you should understand why I'm running away. Why I'm doing what I'm doing!" John replied.

"I understand, but I do not agree with you," the man said. "You should've taken an alternative instead of bring along others with you. Now, look what you have done. You've ruined everyone's future on that ship. They are all going to die, and it's your entire fault. The only thing you are doing is making matters worse. You, John, are a problem to Sherlock. You're going to make him suffer, and it'll be because of your selfishness.

"What exactly do you do on that ship? Chores? Steer the wheel? You're not even useful. What can you provide for them, for Sherlock? Absolutely nothing but destruction," the man finished explaining.

John's complexion paled upon listening to the man. Was that all he was to Sherlock? A waste of space? A problem?

"But, of course, my opinion means absolutely nothing to you," the man said. "All you care about is yourself."

"That-that's not true!" John protested.

The man raised his hand at John. "I've heard and seen enough. I'll leave you to your thoughts," he answered, opening the door once more. "Oh, do try and calm down. We wouldn't want you to…explode. We both know what happens when you do."

John's eyes widened. How? How the hell did he know his secret! Who told him? How did he find out? John realized his heart rate was increasing and so was his anger. He exhaled shakily, willing himself to relax.

Sherlock groaned irritably as he marched inside the building. His eyes scanned his surroundings as he opened the door to the building.

"All right, now! Where is he? Where did you put him? Mycroft!" Sherlock exclaimed angrily, turning in circles to find the man.

"Now, now, yelling isn't going to get us anywhere," Mycroft said, stepping through from a hall.

"Where is John?" Sherlock asked, walking past him.

"Come here, Sherlock," Mycroft said in a grave tone. "I need to have a serious word with you."

"I need to get him out of here!" Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft yelled sharply.

Sherlock halted, turning his attention to Mycroft. "You have one minute!"

"That's all I need," Mycroft answered, casting a small smile at Sherlock.

"Go on!" Sherlock said impatiently, tapping his foot.

"For the past seven years, I have overlooked your erratic behavior. But for this, I will step my foot down," he began. "Do you have any idea how abrupt and naive you're being? This is –"

"I've heard this already –"

"Don't interrupt me," Mycroft answered gravely.

Sherlock clasped his mouth shut, waiting for Mycroft to proceed.

"This is, not only foolish, but unlike you. When have you ever showed sympathy to anyone? Why is this brat any different? You don't care if he's royalty, so what's your reason?"

"That is…none of your business," Sherlock replied.

Mycroft stared at Sherlock, narrowing his eyes.

"Are you done? Because if you are, then I'm going to look for him," Sherlock said, turning around and stalking off.

"Has he told you?" Mycroft asked, tapping his umbrella.

"Told me what?" Sherlock questioned, stopping.

"Ah, so he hasn't told you his secret?" Mycroft said. "Interesting."

"You know his secret?" Sherlock answered. "What is it?"

"I think, it will be best…if he tells you himself," Mycroft said. "But, back to more important matters, do you honestly think he's safe with you? No, Sherlock, what you've done was put him in greater risk than he already was. Did you see how easy it was for me to capture him? It just shows how useless he and you are. You left his side when you needed to stay by him the most. Sherlock, one of these days, that thrill of yours is going to get someone killed, someone important.

"He's so devoted to you in such a short time. And that is his downfall, Sherlock. He's willing to risk his life to protect the people he cares about. I can see those two things clashing, can't you? One of these days, you'll get careless and he'll be there to protect you. But who will be there to protect him? Surely, not you.

"I want you to cease this mad charade you're playing with him, Sherlock. I know you can't bring yourself to reject or break your promise to him, which is why I did it for you –"

"You did what?" Sherlock exclaimed, looking at Mycroft.

"Please, do refrain from interrupting me. As I was saying, I took the liberty of informing Her Majesty where John currently is. I –"

Sherlock didn't let Mycroft continue, instead, he marched up to him and grasped his shirt. "Why would you do that?" Sherlock questioned angrily. "Why are you always interfering in my personal affairs, Mycroft? This is none of your business!"

"I interfere because someone has to, Sherlock. Who's going to look after you if not me? Surely, not mummy and definitely not our father," Mycroft answered nonchalantly.

Sherlock gripped Mycroft's shirt more, pulling him closer to him. "Where is he, Mycroft?"

"Why are you so keen on keeping him? He's going to –"

"Where. Is. He?" Sherlock repeated, in a low voice.

Mycroft stared at Sherlock before he closed his eyes. He shook his head silently, exhaling in annoyance.

John looked at the chains in anger, pulling on them. When that failed to show any advancement, he growled. John twisted his wrist around the chains, trying to loosen his hand through.

John heard the door click, and he stopped moving. He stared at the door, knowing it was going to be _him_ again. The door burst opened and in came Sherlock. John's eyes widened in surprised, unable to repress his smile.

"Sherlock!" John whispered.

Sherlock noticed John, exhaling in relief. "Didn't I tell you to stick by my side?" he demanded angrily, marching towards John.

Sherlock knelt in front of John, placing the key inside the slot. He twisted the key, releasing John.

"How is this my fault?" John questioned, quirking a brow.

"Forget it," Sherlock snapped, grasping John's arm. "Let's go."

John barely had time to stand before Sherlock hauled him out the door. "Sherlock, wait," John said, trying to catch up.

"We don't have _time_, John. Hurry up!" Sherlock hissed.

"So, that man is your brother?" John asked, rubbing his wrists.

"Mycroft Holmes," Sherlock answered, rowing the oars. He had dragged John back to the shore and they were returning back to the ship.

"I don't see the resemblance," John replied. "I can see that you're both intelligent, but that's about it."

"That's because we don't have anything in common. He was always the prodigy child. Everyone treated him like he was a saint. But there was nothing special nor godly about him," Sherlock explained.

"And…what about you?" John asked.

"What about me?" Sherlock questioned.

"How were you treated at home?" John said.

Sherlock lowered his gaze, not saying anything for a brief moment. "I was always ignored," he began. "I was just the problem child. Sure, I was a bright child. But what use was that if I wasn't using it for anything?"

"Who told you that lie?" John asked.

Sherlock looked up at John, raising a brow. "My father," he answered.

"Your father's an idiot," John announced. "No offense."

"What?" Sherlock questioned.

"I mean, I bet your father was the types of people that wanted you to follow in his steps. Study the same field as him and do everything he had done. But you, I can only imagine, didn't quite agree with him. You wanted to do something he didn't agree on. And when that happened, you were shunned for it. It's not that there was something wrong with you. It's that you were different, unique," John explained, head low from embarrassment.

Sherlock bit his lip, repressing the urge to smile. He nodded his head gingerly as they neared the cave. "Thank you, John," he murmured.

John looked up at Sherlock in embarrassment, face flushed. "Don't think of it as-as anything special!" he exclaimed.

Sherlock chuckled at the remark. "John, what do you think of me?" he asked. Sherlock's smile disappeared as he noticed John's face.

John's face had gone white instantly, and he looked like he was trembling. His eyes were blazing red and orange. _What_?

"What's wrong, John?" Sherlock questioned.

John lifted his hand in the air, pointing his index finger behind Sherlock. Sherlock looked behind him, noticing a faint red and orange glow inside. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"No," Sherlock whispered.

By now, they were past the entrance of the cave. The cave was now shining menacingly. Soon, they could see the ship. It was on fire!

"My ship!" Sherlock exclaimed hoarsely.

Sherlock jumped out of the boat, into the shallow water. The water was up to Sherlock's knees. The water swayed around Sherlock as he staggered towards his ship.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, following after Sherlock.

John noticed that the first boat was already parked beside the ship. He wondered if Lestrade and Clara had gone with them. John heard a shriek as he entered the water. His eyes widened.

"Clara!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock was already climbing the ladder, grunting as he did so. No, he worked too hard on this ship just to see it burn. This ship deserved more justice than that! Sherlock climbed the ladder frantically, forgetting about John. He got onboard, watching the scene unfold in horror. His ship was burning. His room was in the process of being burnt to the ground.

And who was behind this destruction? It was none other than the Deadly Seven. Sherlock pulled out his sword, engaging in the fight.

John wondered how they knew the ship was there. Did someone tell? Sherlock had hidden his ship here multiple times without any problems. John hopped onto the ship, hearing more shrieks. Clara was badly wounded but was still dueling with the pirate. Molly was in the lookout post, clashing with a pirate that was pursuing her. Dimmock and Lestrade were handling three pirates that had circled them. Anderson was desperately dumping water over the blaze. Sherlock was protecting Anderson while fighting a pirate.

John heard another scream. He looked for the source, seeing Donovan trying to ward off a pirate. The pirate had knocked her sword from her grasp, causing her to fall on the ground. John rushed towards her, picking up the sword and blocking the pirate's attack from piercing her.

"John," Sally stammered.

"Go, Sally! Help Anderson put out the fire!" John ordered.

Sally nodded quickly, rising from the ground and running towards Anderson. Once she appeared by Anderson, she helped him put out the flames.

"Where's John?" Sherlock called out, unable to find him.

"He's near the poop deck!" Sally replied, finally securing Sherlock's room.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, noticing John. John was struggling to keep the pirate at bay. He was nearing and nearing the edge of the boat. John ducked in time, jabbing the pirate with his elbow. The pirate clutched his side. John took the chance to kick the pirate. Down went the pirate, rolling down the stairs. John exhaled in relief, desperately trying to catch his breath.

He looked up, noticing Sherlock's gaze. "Sherlock, behind you!" John hollered.

Sherlock had been distracted, watching John fight the pirate. He turned around, getting punched in the face. Sherlock crashed onto the floor, groaning as he did so. He turned on his side, receiving a blow to the side. Sherlock grasped his sword but the pirate had sliced his hand, causing him to drop his sword.

Suddenly, John appeared beside the pirate, knocking him on the ground. Sherlock's eyes widened. Mycroft's words had flowed back into his mind.

"Sherlock!" screamed Lestrade.

Sherlock shook his head, realizing he had been in thought. He looked for John. John had just taken care of the pirate before another one came charging towards him. John had no time to respond because he was knocked overboard along with the pirate.

"John!" Sherlock yelled, staggering to his feet. "John!"

Sherlock ran to the side of the ship, but was knocked forcibly back onto the ground. A gust of wind had rocked the ship, causing everyone to stumble. Sherlock struggled to his feet, realizing it was difficult to stand because of the wind.

As John fell overboard, he felt a storm of emotions running through his head. Mycroft's words burned inside his mind, branding him. _Now, look what you have done. You've ruined everyone's future on that ship. You, John, are a problem to Sherlock. You're going to make him suffer, and it'll be because of your selfishness. _

_That's a lie! It's a lie! I-I want to protect him. I want to take care of him. I want him to tell me everything that he's feeling. I want to be by his side. I-I can be useful –_

_What can you provide for them, __**for Sherlock**__? Absolutely nothing but destruction._

No, John could feel himself slipping away. He was slipping into madness again. He was going to _explode_. John felt his heart rate increase dramatically. His eyes had dilated and had turned white. Light had illuminated from John's eyes, brightening the cave more. Wind had appeared out of nowhere and had started to form around John

In short, he had slipped.

Sherlock felt the ship swaying around dangerously as the wind continued to rock it. The wind was coming from the side of the ship where John had fallen. Sherlock crawled his way to the side of the ship. Sherlock had to grip the side of the ship from being pushed back onto the ground. Sherlock looked over the ship. His pupils expanded at the sight.

_I thought this was only a myth or a legend. But, they do exist! John, this-this is your secret? Is this what you had tried to hide from me? So, this is why Ebony wants you then! _


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I apologize for not updating last week. But I have been ridiculously busy these last few weeks.**

**Chapter Six**

**Phasmatis**

Sherlock gripped the edge of the ship as it rocked to and fro. Sherlock looked to the side as he heard rumbles coming from the other side of the ship. He bit down on his bottom lip, feeling a sweat drop roll down his forehead.

"Clara!" he shouted over the whirring wind. "What's making that sound?"

Clara was gripping onto the door's latch. Her hair was blowing in various directions. She looked up at her captain. "The ship, Sir!" she replied.

"What do you mean?" he questioned, though he already knew the answer.

"The ship's hitting the side of the cave," Clara managed weakly.

Sherlock nodded curtly, returning his attention to the edge of the ship. He looked down at the person responsible for all the carnage.

"John…" he whispered softly, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Sherlock looked down, seeing three white spheres. Each sphere was the size of two men stacked on top of each other. Two spheres, which were on the side of the middle one, were zigzagging and rotating around the middle sphere, which lay immobilized. The spheres were made out of gusts of wind compacted into circles. The spheres' sheer velocity was so rapid that the water it stood on was pushed to the side, leaving the ground beneath them exposed.

Which one was John? Or was John gone? Sherlock couldn't tell by the sight of it. And he despised the feeling of being useless. He tsked angrily, wavering on what to do.

"A Phasmatis Flutus, eh, Captain Holmes?" whispered a voice beside him.

Sherlock turned his head in the direction of the voice, instantly glaring at the man. It was none other than James Brocklehurst, the captain of the Deadly Seven.

"Wrong," Sherlock muttered angrily. "What do you want?"

"At first, I just wanted to burn down your ship. But now, I want the boy. I can see why you've been harboring him," James sneered.

"Ha!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I'd like to see you try."

"I'll take my chances, captain," he murmured. "But now I wonder something."

"What is that?" Sherlock asked.

"Why are you so keen with him?" James replied.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at James, growling. He looked away from him, glancing down at the three spheres. "How did you find out I was here?" Sherlock snapped back.

"Oh, you can thank your dear brother for that," James answered, smirking tauntingly.

Sherlock's eyes widened. His own brother had… He's taken it too far! Sherlock clenched his jaw angrily.

"I don't know why you see it as a big surprise, Mr. Holmes," Brocklehurst continued. "We all know who your brother has chosen to side with."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as if he was in pain. "Your point?"

"Well, of course he'd sell you out. You, of all people, his brother! He's the Queen's dog after all!" James teased.

"Once more, what is your point?" Sherlock asked, rather bored.

"It just goes to show you have no one in the end, captain. Not even your dear brother. You can be all noble and haughty today but in the end, you'll be abandoned because you have no one," James finished.

"Did my brother pay you to tell me that?" Sherlock replied.

James quirked a brow, smirking. He shrugged. "Who knows?" James said. "But all I know is that I'm done with you."

"What are you doing?" Sherlock questioned, seeing James shuffle away.

"I need that boy! Don't you see what he is? I can use him as my source of power. I'll have control over the world because of him," he explained.

"And you're –"

"Fall back!" James hollered to his men.

"You fool! You have no idea what you're up against and to blindly go in there without a plan!" Sherlock snapped back.

James sniggered as he staggered his way down the rocking ladder. The minute James placed his foot over the ship, the whirring of the wind had ceased.

All eyes fell on the spheres. The two spheres that had been roaming about had stopped, both on either side of the middle sphere. The boat had stopped rocking, leaving Sherlock's crew sighing in relief.

James turned to look at Sherlock, giving him a malicious smile. "Things are turning out for me," he mused, climbing down the ladder. James's men soon followed suit, descending. Everyone ran to the side of the ship, which Sherlock was on. Eyes scanned at the eight men who had just entered the ocean.

James's men marveled at the three spheres, grinning. "What are you all standing for?" he questioned. "Go on!"

James's men stared at the spheres in horror. They hesitated before one of them took a step forward. When nothing happened, the men approached the spheres. One of the men whistled as they were face to face with the middle sphere.

"Look how tall this is!" one man said.

"I bet it's bigger than Mr. Holmes," another answered.

"Taller," Sherlock corrected irritably.

"Captain," Sally whispered softly. "Aren't we going to do anything?"

"And what do you propose we do?" Sherlock snapped back.

"Well, we can't let them capture John!" Sally protested.

"Sherlock, we've got to do something," Molly mumbled.

"We can't do anything!" Sherlock exclaimed, glaring at them both.

"So, we're just going to let them take John, just like that?" Clara shot back, crossing his arms. "Some captain you are."

Sherlock's expression fell. He was hesitating. And he knew it. He wanted to help John, and God knew that more than anyone else. But… he wasn't even sure if John was stabilized. He doubted John could tell the difference between friend and foe. He didn't even doubt if John knew who he was. Sherlock groaned, repressing the urge to cover his face. What had John done to him? He's turned him into a coward, that's for sure.

The men stared at the spheres, mouths parted. One of the men, the one standing before the middle sphere, had lifted his arm. He reached towards the middle sphere. He hesitated, retreating his hand before reaching towards it again. Just one touch.

A scream echoed throughout the cave. All eyes drifted towards the sound of the voice, staring down at it.

James's had taken a step back when he heard the scream. "What's going on?" he called out.

The man who had touched the middle sphere was now clutching his hand with the other. Something was oozing out of his hand. It was blood. He howled in pain, swinging to and fro.

"God help me!" he screamed, falling to his knees.

"What? What has happened?" demanded James.

Immediately, the spheres resumed their rotation, the gusts of wind building up rapidly. The two spheres on the sides began zigzagging once more. This time, the spheres were heading towards James's men. The moment the spheres activated, the ship was rocked once more. Sherlock's crew wobbled as they held onto the edge of the ship.

Lestrade had taken his chance. He had let go of the ship. He was immediately knocked backwards, smashing against the lookout post. He groaned in pain as he held onto it. He staggered to his feet. He looked around, seeing Sherlock's room. An idea had popped into his head. He released himself, allowing himself to be slammed once more. Lestrade opened Sherlock's room, swinging inside. He locked the door as he panted heavily.

The man – who was on the ground – looked up in time to see a sphere charging towards him. Before he could react, the sphere had passed through him. The man had made one last scream before it died out instantly.

As soon as the sphere passed through, the screaming man had vanished instantly, diminishing into nothing but dust.

Upon seeing this, James's men fled. They dropped their weapons and ran in various directions like rats. Even James had retreated. But it was too late. The spheres were gaining on the men, making them into nothing but ashes. Each cry was stopped abruptly.

Sherlock's crew had to look away, finding the scene grotesque. But Sherlock hadn't looked away; he was staring intently at the scene, analyzing so he could find out more about Phasmatis of Flatus.

All that remained was James. He had reached the side of the ship. He attempted climb the ladder but it had been brought up by Anderson. James looked up at Sherlock frantically, banging rapidly against the ship.

"Let me up!" he cried. "Please, I beg of you! Have some compassion!"

Sherlock glared down at James, shaking his head silently. "I will show you no compassion because this is your fate. You have chosen your path, now you must endure it, whatever the consequences may be. I wouldn't want to mess with destiny, eh, captain?" Sherlock replied coldly.

James looked up at Sherlock, desperation in his eyes. He heard whirring. His complexion had dropped instantly. James shuddered as he glanced behind him. There, in front of him, was a sphere charging towards him. He held his arms in front of him as if that would protect him. He yelled as the sphere passed through him. Blood had splattered against the side of the ship, giving it a grim crimson color.

The ship sputtered as the sphere crashed towards it. Sally and Dimmock had lost their balance, falling on the ground.

"Captain!" Anderson pleaded. "The ship's going to burst if we don't do something!"

"What do you propose we do?" Sherlock growled back.

"You know exactly what I propose!"

Sherlock snapped his neck towards Anderson, glaring at him in horror. "Absolutely not!" Sherlock said firmly. No, he wouldn't allow it. He was not going to kill John. Never. Even if it costs his life, he wasn't going to kill John.

"Captain!" Clara cried.

"Sherlock!" Sally said.

"Do something!" Dimmock answered.

Molly stared at Sherlock, frowning. She bit her bottom lip, nodding her head gently. Sherlock had parted his lips, looking down at the sphere. No. He – he wouldn't allow it. He couldn't.

Suddenly, the door burst open. All eyes were on Lestrade, who was gripping a rifle. He staggered his way towards the lookout post, grasping onto it.

Sherlock's eyes widened as he stared at the rifle. "What're you doing?" Sherlock exclaimed desperately. Sherlock released himself from the edge of the ship, stalking towards Lestrade. Sherlock made an attempt to grasp the rifle but Lestrade had pulled it away from him. With a quick movement, Lestrade was climbing the post. He stood, standing in the crow's nest. He swung the rifle from his back, setting it up. He aimed towards the spheres.

"DON'T!" Sherlock ordered.

Three shots were fired. All three shots hit the three spheres. In a flash, the spheres had stopped moving. The spheres began to fade, ending the gusts of wind. John was lying in the ocean.

Sherlock's eyes widened. Lestrade slid down from the post, landing on the ground gently. Sherlock glared at Lestrade angrily. He grabbed the rifle from Lestrade, throwing it on the ground. He grasped Lestrade's shirt, pulling him towards him.

"You've killed him!" Sherlock screamed angrily, shaking Lestrade vigorously. "Weren't you the one who wanted him alive? So why the hell did you kill him?"

Lestrade's head began to throb with every jerk. He pushed Sherlock away from him, declaring, "I do want him alive! I didn't kill him. I didn't shoot him. I merely tranquilized him! A sedative! I used curare."

Sherlock was panting heavily as he stared at Lestrade. Soon, his heart leapt and he ran towards the edge of the ship. He dropped down the ladder and climbed down the stairs.

John attempted to open his eyes but he found it difficult in doing so. It took a while before he eventually opened his eyes. They felt heavy and he wished to close them. He sighed lightly as he found himself in his room. A dream? John exhaled in relief. He attempted to run a hand through his hair but realized he was incapable of doing so. John tried to prop himself up but he fell back onto his bed. Just what was going on?

"Ah, you're awake," a voice bellowed.

John craned his neck to look at the voice but was unable to grasp its face. But he didn't need to see to know who it was. "Sherlock," he mumbled, words coming out like lead. "Wh-what's go—ing on? I-I can't seem to – to – to –"

"Shh," Sherlock hummed, walking towards him.

Soon, John was able to see Sherlock's face. He had several cuts on his face and his coat seemed a bit torn, but other than that, he was fine.

"Don't talk, John," Sherlock said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Your mind is still slurred in the moment."

"What happened?" he managed weakly.

"Well… you fell overboard," Sherlock said.

John nodded his head slowly.

"And when you fell, I don't know if you were angry or your emotions were high but you sort of…changed."

"Changed?" John answered, still not realizing what he had meant.

Sherlock nodded his head slowly, turning to look at John. "You're a Phasmatis of Flatus," Sherlock announced finally.

Suddenly, John realized what Sherlock had said and widened his eyes. "God no. I didn't! No, no, no –"

"John, calm down. It won't do you any good," Sherlock replied.

John looked away from him, unable to meet his gaze. He exhaled shakily, feeling tears prick at the ends of his eyes.

"I didn't mean it in that way, John –"

"No, no, you're right," John said slowly. He exhaled sharply, trying to level his breathing. John struggled as he propped himself up on the bed. He covered his face in embarrassment. "I-I didn't. I tried so hard to never let that loose."

"I know, John. I know –"

"No!" John snapped back. "You don't know. You don't know how awful it feels. Have you ever killed someone, Sherlock?" John asked, voice cracking.

Sherlock hesitated before he nodded his head slowly. "I have."

"And how does it feel?" John asked.

"Refreshing –"

"How did you feel when you killed someone for the first time?" John continued.

Sherlock was silent. He pondered for a few moments, trying to relive his first kill. "I didn't quite enjoy it. Guilty."

"Have you ever killed someone unintentionally?" John replied.

"No," Sherlock said firmly.

"Then you wouldn't understand how it feels to kill someone without meaning to. I have probably killed people more than you ever will!" John answered, slurring his words.

"John, you said you never killed –"

"That's different!" John said. "I have never killed someone intentionally. When I killed Eric that was the very first time I killed. That was the very first time I witnessed myself killing someone, Sherlock!"

Sherlock felt his throat gone dry. "John," he whispered. "Relax or you'll going to –"

"Blow up?" John interrupted.

"No! You're going to give yourself a panic attack. John, you're going into shock. Please, relax," Sherlock explained.

John stared at Sherlock, shaking slightly. He nodded silently as he tried to compose himself. John looked down at his hands. After a moment of silence, John whispered, "H-how do you know about…what I am?"

"I read all the stories that people wrote about you. I was always interested in Phasmatis of Flatus, but I knew they never existed. Still, I could never drop it," Sherlock explained.

"They're not about me," John said.

"In a sense, they are," Sherlock answered, staring into John's eyes.

"I never knew there were stories on…us."

"There are. Heavily restricted but my brother had just started working with Her Majesty. When I was a child, my brother would read about them in his room. Out of curiosity, I read them as well. And I well, stole them," Sherlock replied.

John nodded silently.

After a pause, Sherlock said, "The stories would describe you as the Winded Killer. But the original term is Phasmatis of Flatus, meaning the Spirit of the Wind. And your kind had originally existed in Italy, but when the Austro-Prussian War occurred, your kind had divided against each other. Your kind nearly killed each other. That's why the war ended so quickly. But some, obviously, survived.

"From everything that I've read, people aren't sure how they got that type of power. But some say it was God who gave the Phasmatis of Flatus the power to annihilate mankind if things should head in the wrong direction. Also, people aren't sure how they activate their power. Some say it activates when a Phasmatis has a strong emotion. Others say it's by will," Sherlock explained.

John had been staring at Sherlock, mouth agape. He relaxed his hands, no longer clenching them. Just how much did this man know about his secret?

"How long have you been looking into this?" John asked.

"Even before I became a pirate," Sherlock whispered.

"And now that you've seen one, a Spirit of the Wind, what do you plan to do now?" John continued.

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not sure. But I find you interesting, John. I'd like to know more about it."

"Well, whatever that you saw today, that's all you're ever going to see of it again!" John announced bitterly.

"Why? What's so wrong with it?" Sherlock replied.

"Have you not been listening to what I just said?" John asked. "I unintentionally kill people whenever I feel threatened or I can no longer suppress my emotions! Why push it more and see more of that monster?"

"Monster?" Sherlock questioned, quirking a brow.

"Yes, that's what it is. What I have, it's a monster," John said. "The most terrible gift I could have ever received."

"I can understand why it would be a pain to have such a thing," Sherlock began. "But think of the positive: you have a power that everyone wants to have. With it, you can even rule the world if you wanted to."

"That's good to you?" John snapped back. "I don't want to rule the world!"

"In a sense," Sherlock said.

"I'm a freak," John mumbled weakly.

Sherlock turned to stare at John in disbelief. He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You have obviously never met me then," Sherlock answered.

John looked up at Sherlock. "You're not a freak, Sherlock," John replied. "You're different. You're just misjudged."

Sherlock's eyes widened. A small smile appeared on his lips. He leaned towards John, lifted his chin up with two fingers, and planted a chaste kiss on his lips.

John had meant to move away when he felt Sherlock's hands on his chin, but was too weak to move. He lay against the headboard, watching as Sherlock captivated his lips. He closed his eyes a few seconds after Sherlock pulled away.

John was at a loss of words. When he finally formulated a sentence, he said, "Why did you…?"

"You say I'm not a freak, but the same thing could be said about you. Yes, you may classify yourself as a 'monster' and so do other people. But you and they only see what you posses rather that your character," Sherlock said, placing his hand against John's chest. John glanced down at his chest, flushing lightly. "The thing is you're no monster, John. Never have been and never will be. You're a good person. You know right from wrong. You're…just misunderstood and misjudged."

John had been looking down at the hand against his chest before he glanced up at Sherlock. Before he could say anything, Sherlock had risen from the bed.

"Well, I've got to go. Rest, will you? You still need to sleep off the sedative," Sherlock announced. He placed his hand around the knob, twisting it.

"Sherlock!" John called out.

Sherlock hesitated before he let go of the door knob and turned to look at John. "Hmm?"

"Since you know so much, do you have an idea what Ebony is up to?" John asked.

Sherlock blinked silently before he nodded. "I have an idea. I may be wrong though. Ebony, obviously, wants what you possess. The only reason she wants you on the throne is because something's happened, something that wasn't supposed to. She wanted to hurry the process up. Why? I've no idea," Sherlock explained. "But there are three people in the world that I know of that want someone like you."

"And who are those three people?" John asked.

"The first being is Ebony. The second being James Moriarty," Sherlock replied.

"James Moriarty?" John questioned, quirking a brow.

Sherlock waved his hand in the air. "That is a story longer than we have time to explain," Sherlock announced.

"All right," John whispered. "And who's the third?"

A small smirk tugged on Sherlock's lips. "Me," he said.

"What?" John questioned.

Sherlock nodded. "And you're lucky," Sherlock announced. "You're with the one who wants you out of pure interest."

John furrowed his brows, confused. "I don't understand."

But Sherlock had opened the door and shut it behind him gently.

A week had gone since the incident. John was back downstairs, listening to Molly's lecture. This time, she was teaching him the different cuts made by different instrument. She explained to him which instrument was used on what.

Sherlock was by the door, tapping his feet impatiently as he waited for John to come out already. He had his arms crossed angrily, rolling his eyes. Just how long does a lesson take? Sherlock groaned angrily.

Molly could practically hear Sherlock from the other side. She couldn't help but smile at the notion, shaking her head lightly.

"What's wrong?" John asked, catching Molly's headshake. "Did I do it wrong?"

"What?" Molly said, looking back at John. "What? No, no, it's fine. You're really progressing John," Molly answered, smiling fondly.

"Really? Thank you," John replied. "So, what's next?"

"How about we give it a rest? You can come back tomorrow, same time as always," Molly murmured.

John smiled faintly and nodded. He rose from his seat. "Thank you, Molly," John said, opening the door. He took several steps back when he noticed Sherlock in the doorway.

Sherlock had scoffed, grasping John's arm wrist and pulling him along. "Where're we going?" John asked, as he tried to catch up with Sherlock's pace.

"We've landed," Sherlock explained. "Secret place where I go to."

John barely comprehended what Sherlock had said. "Sherlock, can we slow down?" John pleaded.

"Nope. We only have ten minutes to be on here before we have to go," Sherlock mumbled, pushing the ladder overboard. "We'll return in a few minutes. Continue moving the ship as it is," Sherlock instructed Clara.

Clara smirked at the two as she nodded.

They both climbed down the stairs, onto the shore. Sherlock grasped John's arm again, pulling him. "You can swim, right?" he asked him.

"Uh… yes?" John said.

"Can you or can't you?" Sherlock asked again, stopping to face John.

"I can, I can," John replied, nodding his head.

"Okay then," Sherlock answered, pulling him once more.

They stopped before a pile of rocks. Sherlock had pushed a giant rock aside, exposing an exit. John could barely see what's inside but made out something farther inside. Sherlock grasped John's arm and hauled him inside. Sherlock grasped the rock that he shoved aside and covered it over where they had just entered.

It was dark for a few moments. John could see nothing. He could only make out the sounds of their feet and breaths. Soon enough, John noticed crystal colors against the wall, shimmering. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what it was.

"Almost there," Sherlock whispered, pressing onto John's hand lightly.

John nodded silently.

Within a few seconds, John could see more light come in. Sherlock stopped, forcing John to stop as well. They were by the ocean.

"We need to swim," Sherlock said.

"Is it cold?" John asked.

"Not really," Sherlock replied, jumping in. "Come in."

"I'd rather not," John said, shaking his hands in protest.

"Come on," Sherlock answered, grasping John's arm and forcing him inside.

John made sure he closed his eyes as he entered the ocean. He realized he was sinking and made his way to the surface. He sputtered as he reached the surface of the ocean. He trembled lightly, glaring at Sherlock. "Liar!" John snapped back, splashing Sherlock. "Th-this i-ss bloody c-c-cold!"

"You'll get used to it," Sherlock murmured. "Let's go. The quicker we get there, the faster our bodies will heat up."

Sherlock began to paddle his way through, expecting John to follow. He couldn't help but grin at John's reaction to what he's going to see. John had not swum in a while, but at least, he wasn't sinking. He trudged his way through the water, trying to catch up with Sherlock. Sherlock stopped and said, "You'll have to hold your breath for a minute underwater, can you do that?"

"Let's find out and see," John said hoarsely. Oh, god, this is how he was going to die, John thought.

There was a rock, hanging onto the ceiling, in their way. Sherlock held his breath in as he ducked down. He swam under the surface, finding the opening to the other side. He swiveled inside and passed through it safely. He resurfaced, breathing heavily.

"Come on, John," Sherlock answered.

John could barely see Sherlock through some of the crevices of the rock. He hesitated, breathing in deeply. Once he felt ready, John held in his breath and allowed himself to sink below. He could barely see. John had to touch around the rock to find the opening. He soon found it and tried to squeeze his way through. But something was wrong. John couldn't get out.

"John?" Sherlock called out. His eyes widened. "Damn it! John!" Sherlock inhaled as he swam below. He found John and grasped his arm, forcing him out of the opening. He pulled John to the surface, exhaling sharply.

"John? John!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking at him.

John was panting heavily, gasping for breath. He felt weak. His body was sore and the water wasn't helping him.

Sherlock grasped John's shoulders then cupped his face with his hands. "John, look at me. John! How are you? Are you all right? John!" Sherlock replied.

"I-I'm fine," he mumbled weakly, opening his eyes to stare at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at John intently, trying to see if there was any damage. He was still cupping John's face firmly. He panted heavily as he sighed in relief.

John had his mouth parted. He grasped both of Sherlock's hands with his own. He looked down before looking back at Sherlock.

"Sher…Sherlock," he mumbled. "We should probably –"

Sherlock pushed John against the rock, pressing desperate kissing against John's lips. The kisses would last three seconds maximum as he pulled away to only kiss him again.

John was confused during the ordeal. But he complied every time he met Sherlock's lips. He gripped onto his shirt, afraid he'd sink.

"What's taking them so much time?" Lestrade questioned, after glancing at his pocket watch.

"Probably snogging," Clara said, smirking.

"You honestly believe that, Clara?" Lestrade shot back.

"Well, come on, isn't it obvious?" Clara replied. "It's obvious that Sherlock likes our newest crewmember."

Anderson rolled his eyes. "You've got to stop reading those books," Anderson murmured.

"Well, I think Clara's correct," Molly whispered. "I've been teaching John in the mornings and Sherlock's always by the door, waiting for him to come out. I can hear him sometimes. I doubt John can."

"But that doesn't imply anything," Sally replied.

"Does it?" Molly answered. "I've seen the way he looks at him. He's never looked at anybody like that before."

"Of course he has," Lestrade shot back. "He's looked at…at…" he trailed off, ending his sentence. Oh god.

"In my opinion," Clara said, "our captain has it got it in for the Prince of England."

"Even if he did," Dimmock interrupted, "it'd never work. As long as Ebony's alive, the two can never really be together. And plus, I doubt John has the same feelings for Sherlock. He's so much in love with that fiancé of his."

"Oh, yeah. I just remembered about her," Sally said. "Jesus, even if Ebony died, they could never be together. There's still Mary. And even if she's out of the picture, they still can't be together because, let's face it, they'll never be married. It simply won't be allowed for."

"Well…this is a bit of a problem," Anderson mumbled.

"Our captain's going to be in one hell of a ride," Dimmock said.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Sherlock and John had made it out of the ocean, both drenched wet. John had kept his distance with Sherlock. Everything felt awkward at the moment. He didn't know what to do now or what to say as a matter of fact. They had snogged each other breathless. And when they had finished, they pretended like it never happened. Now, John was staggering behind Sherlock, shivering from the ocean.

"We're almost there, John," Sherlock whispered, after a long period of silence.

John looked up at Sherlock. "Y-yeah," he stammered, teeth clattering.

"Cold?" Sherlock asked, turning to face him.

John halted instantly, staring at him. He had his arms crossed as he trembled in his spot. He nodded silently.

"Don't worry. We won't have to swim back into the water again. There's a second exit where we're going," Sherlock replied.

"Then why didn't we use that one?" John asked.

"The thing is it's really hard to find. I've tried, John, believe me. But it never worked," Sherlock said.

Sherlock turned around and stalked off once more. John hesitated for a moment before he followed him. They walked in silence for a few moments more until Sherlock stopped abruptly. He grasped John's arm suddenly and hauled him through a small corridor.

Before John could protest, he was engulfed by blinding light. He glanced away, covering his face. He waited for his eyes to adjust before he actually took in the sight. His mouth parted as he stared at the place. Everything… everything looked like it was made of ice yet it was not cold. The walls shimmered in hues of colors. John smiled instantly, captivated by the sight.

"What is this?" John asked.

"Jewels," Sherlock said simply. "This place here is infested with jewels."

"Really?" John questioned, turning to look at him.

"I know, the outside may look discouraging and lame but the inside is absolutely beautiful," Sherlock answered, smiling faintly.

"Where is this? It's just so… I've never seen anything like this," John replied.

"This is…my home," Sherlock said.

John looked at Sherlock, quirking a brow.

"What I mean to say," Sherlock corrected, "is that this place is part of my actual home. Though I can no longer go back to my house, I still come here. I used to come here to think. And no, we're not in Britain," Sherlock said. "This is the house that I paid for with my own money. My family home is at Britain."

"Why can't you return home?" John asked. "If this is yours, then you should be allowed to live in your own home."

Sherlock shook his head silently. "Not a lot of people like pirates, John," Sherlock announced. "I kept my identity secure for two years. I would always come here when I didn't feel like 'pirating'. But, then Her Majesty found out and told the authorities in Belgium," Sherlock explained.

"We're in Belgium?" John questioned.

Sherlock bit his bottom lip and nodded.

Wrong thing to say, he thought. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," John murmured. "That's not fair now. You deserve to live in your own home without worry of persecution."

Sherlock chuckled. "Well, life's not fair, John. And, in some twisted way, it's fair. I'm a pirate, 'violating' people's rights in a way," Sherlock replied.

John shook his head lightly. "It doesn't sound fair to me."

Sherlock smiled as he rubbed John's head. "You'd make a good king, John."

"I don't want to be king," John murmured, looking away. "Even if there was no danger with Ebony, I still wouldn't want to be king. It's a huge responsibility, something that I can't handle. I'm not meant to be ordering people around; rather, I'm meant to be ordered around."

Sherlock's smile broadened as he shook his head. "You've got some thinking, Watson."

John rolled his eyes, looking back at the jewels. "Beautiful."

Sherlock looked at John, noticing the colors in his eyes change. Now, that was beautiful. Sherlock reached for John's hand, entwining his fingers with John's.

John didn't look. He didn't need to look to know what had just happened. He felt his face tinged scarlet. John reacted by squeezing Sherlock's hand. He tried hard not to – even bit his lip so it wouldn't form – but smiled in the end.

After a period of bliss, Sherlock sighed in annoyance. If only they had more time. That's what it came down to in the end. "We have to go, John," he whispered.

"Do we have to? We can stay here forever."

Sherlock half smiled and nodded. "Some day, but not today, I promise I'll take you back here," Sherlock answered. Sherlock loosened his hand from John. He walked towards the other side of the room, motioning for John to follow. Sherlock touched the wall, trying to look for something. He found it. He walked through the wall.

John quirked a brow. "How'd you do that?" he asked.

"What?" Sherlock replied.

"Go through the wall," John said.

"There was never a wall here. Our eyes are easily deceived with false pretenses," Sherlock explained. "Once we see how one side of a room is, we make a picture on how the other side looks like. That's where the illusion comes in."

John smiled faintly at Sherlock, nodding his head in comprehension.

"Come on, let's go. We wouldn't want the ship to leave us behind," Sherlock announced.

John nodded, following Sherlock's lead.

As the two finally exit, they were blinded by the unforgiving sun. The waited for a moment before their eyes adjusted. John looked around, finding himself on another part of the shore.

"You see that, over there?" Sherlock asked, pointing to the right of John.

John looked in the pointed direction, squinting his eyes. He noticed a dark blue rooftop with shingles covering it. Other than that, he couldn't see anything more.

"I do," John said.

"That's my house," Sherlock whispered, smiling at a forgotten memory.

John looked at the roof of the house, smiling. He looked at Sherlock, seeing the sadness in his eyes. "Let's go, Sherlock," John murmured.

Sherlock jerked out of his thoughts and nodded.

"Well, well, look who we have here," said a voice.

Sherlock pushed John aside, pulling out his sword at the same moment. He pointed it towards the voice. "Leave us be, Luke!" Sherlock exclaimed.

Luke had light brown hair and brown eyes. He raised his hands in the air as if surrendering. "Come on, Sherlock. You know I don't like getting my hands dirty. That's why I have men."

"You're nothing but a coward, Luke!" Sherlock snapped back.

"Who are you shielding there, eh? Ah! It's Prince John Watson! I've always wanted to meet you, Mr. Prince. I just never had the chance to schedule a meeting," Luke said quickly, reaching his hand for John.

Sherlock swiped his sword towards Luke's hand. Luke immediately retreat his hand. "Lay one hand on him and it'll be your life," Sherlock warned, glaring at him.

"Sherlock, don't be a child. I just want to say –"

"Like hell you do!" Sherlock snapped back. "Who sent you?"

Luke groaned irritably, glaring at Sherlock. "Her Majesty the Queen."

"Go away Luke. I've no intention of hurting you, but I won't hesitate for one second if you touch him," Sherlock explained.

Luke rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Sherlock, I'm trying to protect you. Don't you understand? As long as he's with you, you'll never be safe. Neither of you. Give me the boy and you'll be –"

"No!"

"Okay, I've tried being nice," Luke began, voice lowering with each word. "No more Mr. Nice Guy. Sherlock, this is for your own good."

With that, Luke snapped his fingers. Sherlock immediately grabbed John, placing him in front of himself.

The moment Sherlock had used John as a shield, rifles had been pointed at them. "Drop your weapons!" Sherlock exclaimed, sword over John's neck.

"You wouldn't!" Luke exclaimed.

"He's just another hostage to me. He's of no real importance," Sherlock shot back.

John's eyes had widened. What?

"Am I stuttering or what?" Sherlock yelled again. "Drop. Your. Weapons!" He placed the sword against John's neck. John was afraid to even gulp, feeling the edge of the blade against his skin. "Now!" Sherlock had been forcing John into the currents as he talked.

The men had no other choice than to do as they're told. They lowered their guns to the ground, leaving it there.

"Come on, Sherlock!" Luke exclaimed.

"I know your tricks, Luke."

"Five seconds," Sherlock whispered in John's ear gently. "We go below surface, got it?"

John gulped down before he nodded.

Five…

"Sherlock, don't –"

"I've heard enough!" Sherlock interrupted.

Three…

Luke huffed lightly, frowning. "Goodbye…cousin."

One.

Sherlock had released John. They were now hip-width to the ocean. Sherlock had grasped the back of John's shirt as he allowed himself to fall beneath the waves, taking John with him.

Sherlock and John were panting heavily as the climbed the ladder. They were both drenched once more again and cold from the ocean. John hugged himself as he trembled. Sherlock rose from his feet and grabbed a blanket. He bent down in front of John and wrapped it around him.

"Better?" he asked.

John shook his head, teeth clattering rapidly. Sherlock sighed as he wrapped his arms around John, pulling him closer.

All the crew could do was gawk. They pretended not to notice and be busy, but they couldn't stop looking at the two.

Soon, John's teeth stopped clattering. He lay against Sherlock's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He hadn't realized that Sherlock was stroking his hair.

"Molly, prepare a hot bath for John," Sherlock managed after a while.

Molly smiled faintly and nodded, going downstairs.

"Go with her," he whispered in John's ear.

First, his brother told him that John wasn't safe. And now, his cousin was telling him. What more? Sherlock sighed irritably as he shook his head. He covered his face, unsure what to do now. A day had gone by since he saw his cousin.

Maybe, they're right. John isn't safe. He can fight, sure, but look where his style of fighting has led him? Sherlock had to prepare John if he didn't want to lose him. And Sherlock, most definitely, did not want to lose John.

_Did you see how easy it was for me to capture him?_

_You left his side when you needed to stay by him the most._

_He's so devoted to you in such a short time._

_And that is his downfall, Sherlock._

_One of these days, you'll get careless and he'll be there to protect you._

_But who will be there to protect him?_

_Surely, not you._

Sherlock bit back a growl. He clenched his fists angrily, knuckles turning white. Sherlock heard noises coming from outside. Sherlock keened his ears, trying to take in what he was wearing. Sword fight. Sherlock reached for his sword but realized it was threatening. It was just two people practicing their skills. Clara and… John!

Sherlock opened the door in time to see the sword pointing towards Clara's chest.

"I win," John said, grinning.

Clara rolled her eyes. "I let you win."

"Sure you did," John answered. "You're just like my sister, I swear. Can't admit defeat, can you?"

"All right, all right," Clara said, raising her hands in defeat. "You win, happy?"

"Indeed."

"Impressive," Sherlock murmured, joining in the crowd. "But I thought I specifically ordered for you all to clean the ship. And where's Sally?"

"With Anderson," Dimmock said. "I wouldn't be done there if I were you."

Sherlock groaned, rolling his eyes. "Clean. This. Ship. Up. Now!"

Dimmock, Lestrade, Molly, Clara, and John all shook their heads simultaneously. The crowd dispersed and began walking their separate paths.

"John," Sherlock said.

"Hmm?" John hummed, stopping to turn to him.

Sherlock handed him his sword. "Let's see how much you've improved."

"But the…ship –"

"I think they can handle it," Sherlock replied, taking out his own sword. "Come on."

John bit his lip, wavering. He had a bad feeling about this. But he couldn't refuse him. John gripped onto the sword, nodding his head slowly.

Immediately, Sherlock had charged forward, sword above his head. John barely had time to react, using the blade to block the sword. John pushed the sword forwards, un-clashing their swords. John jerked backwards as the blade came towards his stomach.

Damn it. His movements were too quick. He could barely keep up.

"Come on, John!" Sherlock persisted, swinging his sword around. "You can do better than this."

What did he expect of him? He wasn't as skilled as he was! The tip of Sherlock's blade had barely scraped John's arm. He winced slightly, biting onto his lip. John moved his sword upwards, blocking the next attack.

"Sherlock. Sherlock, stop!" John cried, arm feeling numb.

"John, there are no stops in the real world!" Sherlock snapped back, blocking one of John's attacks.

Sherlock had knocked John's sword out of his hands. He kept on swinging for John, unable to stop himself from charging towards him.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed. "Sherlock! STOP!"

John had fallen down on the ground. He closed his eyes, expecting a blow, anything. But none had occurred. He heard a thudding noise and opened his eyes afterwards. Sherlock was on his knees, sword in front of him on the ground. His palms were flat against the floorboards. He was panting heavily, hair covering most of his face.

John's mouth was agape, surprised by the look on Sherlock's face. It was a look of desperation. John quirked a brow, confused. "Sher…lock?" he asked.

Sherlock remained his position, but this time he began trembling. "John, I-I am so sorry," he whispered softly. "I-I didn't mean to…get so carried away. It's that-that I don't want to lose you, John. You were taken so easily by my brother. Who knows who else might take you? I-I can't bear the fact of parting from you," Sherlock explained. He willed them away. He willed them away. But, nevertheless, his betraying body had allowed a drop of tear roll down his cheek. "I can't, John. I would give anyone away in a heartbeat, but not you. Even Lestrade, and that's saying something, John. I don't know what you've done, but you've made it impossible for me to be away from you.

"Listen to me, I must sound so pathetic to you, don't I?" Sherlock asked weakly, looking up at John.

John's expression had softened. He noticed the tear roll down Sherlock's cheek and his heart began to throb in pain. He never knew… He should've known. It was always there since…that day, when Sherlock had looked at him differently. John's breath had hitched in his throat, making it impossible for him to breathe.

John shook his head slowly upon hearing the question. With a sudden jerk, John tilted his head upwards, pressing his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock was surprised. He hadn't expected – He figured John was going to agree with him, but he… Sherlock's mind tried to process what had just happened but was unable to.

The kiss didn't last long. The next moment, John had broken away yet they were still inches apart.

"If you're that worried," John began, "then you should train me properly."

Sherlock stared into John's eyes, eyes half-opened. He smiled faintly, nodding his head slowly. "Shall we begin again?"

John grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I am so sorry that I haven't updated in a long time. I've been busy with school and now that I'm on break, I finally managed the time to relax and write. I think that there might be a new chapter by the end of the week, but I don't want to bring false hope. **

**Also, as a tip, the story will end when all the characters from the series are introduced properly. **

**Chapter Seven**

**Heartache**

A figure dressed in dark robes marches down a staircase made out of hardened dirt. They descend the staircase in deafening silence, creeping down each step in absolute precision. As a couple walks by, the hooded figure stops instantly, hiding behind a somber building until the couple disappears.

The figure breathes out a sigh of relief before they move once more. The silence from the streets makes the figure's steps reverberate. The moment the figure turns a corner they halt. There were endless of people in front of the figure. Should they risk making their identity exposed? The figure breathed out a faltering breath before they marched onwards.

John was huffing deeply as he bent over. He breathed in three raggedy breaths before he exhaled. He heard a snort of laughter and glared at Sherlock.

"It's not funny!" John growled angrily. "You could've had us killed!"

Sherlock was clutching at his sides before he shook his head. "I'm sorry but you should've seen your face! It was absolutely priceless!"

John grasps Sherlock's arm and tightens his grip on it, causing Sherlock to wince sharply. "Boys, stop it!" Sally snapped back. "Did you forget we need to go back on the ship before we're spotted?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, tsking at Sally. "We didn't get spotted and we're fine. That's all that matters," Sherlock protested. "Donovan, go back onboard if you're going to be a pain."

A shrilling sound stops Sally from retorting. She clamps her opened mouth shut and listens. Sherlock and John follow suit, listening.

"Let go of me! I have done nothing wrong!" the voice seems to bellow.

John's hand drops to his side where he keeps his sword, clutching the tilt. Sherlock notices what John's planning, but before he could stop him, John's running towards the scream. Sherlock curses under his breath before he follows John. Sally groans, placing two fingers on her head, before she shakes her head.

John races towards the noise, stopping in time to see a robe figure lying on the ground. A man's holding a sword in his hand and preparing to jab it at the figure. John stops the man, his sword clashing with the other. With two moves, the man's sword is out of his hands and flying. John kicks the man on his side, forcing him on the ground.

John breathes out shakily before his eyes lock with the figure's. His eyes widened and a smile forms on his lips. "Mary!" he cries out happily, dropping his sword onto the ground.

"John!" Mary shrieks, tears rolling down her eyes. She jumps up and embraces John tightly.

Sherlock stops in time to see the two smothering each other in kisses. He's stunned for a moment before he bites his bottom lip and looks the other way.

"So, mind telling me why _she's_ here?" Sally questions, narrowing her eyes at the scene in front of her. "Disgusting!" Sally hisses, when she sees the two hugging.

Sherlock has a pipe in his mouth, blowing out a few rings before he sighs. "It's none of my concern," Sherlock murmurs nonchalantly. "I let you stay here, why not her?"

"Why not her?" Sally sputters angrily, throwing her arms in the air. "I don't know. She's the enemy; maybe that's one thing for sure. She has connections with Ebony and she might be here as a trap for us!" Sally declares.

Sherlock blows another ring before he rolls his eyes. "So were you, but you sure changed your mind, didn't you?" Sherlock countered, opening his eyes.

Sally opens her mouth to protest, but she clamps her mouth instantly, sighing in defeat. She turns around and looks out at the currents below them. "How did she know we were here?" Sally asked, at last.

Sherlock shrugs. "She said she was here by chance. Someone had tipped her off saying we were supposedly here. But, she didn't tell Ebony," Sherlock answered.

"And why the hell not?" Sally questioned.

"How the hell should I know?" Sherlock snapped back angrily. "Do I look like I'm a man filled with answers?"

Sally opens her mouth to reply but Sherlock shushed her instantly. She sighs silently, seeing the state in which her captain is in and decides to leave him alone. Now alone, Sherlock looms his eyes over to John, seeing John holding Mary's hands.

"So, what do you think?" Lestrade said, walking towards him.

"About?"

"Mary? How do you feel?" Lestrade asked, glancing at the two before looking back at Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged once more before exhaling another puff full of smoke. "I don't know. Why should my opinion matter?"

Lestrade shook his head. "That's not what I meant, Sherlock."

"Then what do you mean?" Sherlock questioned, glaring at Lestrade.

"How do you feel about this whole thing between John and Mary?" Lestrade said firmly.

"What do you want me to say? You want me to say that I don't like it? That I feel a dark thing inside me, gnawing at me? That everything hurts when I see those two? That I wish it was me he was smiling at like that instead of her?" Sherlock uttered hurriedly. Sherlock took a few steps back, shaking his head angrily. "You expect me to confess things like that, Lestrade? Do you? Because I won't. I may be rash, but I'm not an idiot."

Lestrade's mouth hanged open before he nodded slowly, looking away from Sherlock. "No, Sherlock. You're being an idiot by not saying anything," Lestrade answered, gazing back at Sherlock.

Sherlock's lip quivers before he scoffs angrily. He looks away from him and decides to leave. He rushes past John and Mary, slamming the door behind him.

John quirks a brow as he stares at the door in confusion. What on earth? He intends to go to Sherlock's room and see what was wrong, but Mary grasps his attention once more.

John knocks at the door, sighing softly. Sherlock hadn't left his room all day and John had begun to worry. Just what happened earlier? When nothing happened, John knocks on the door again.

"Sherlock, it's me, open the door," John whispers. He looks around the ship, seeing no one around. Everyone had gone off to bed by ten. John looks back at the door before he sighs. "Open the door or I'll break it!" John warns.

A groan came from the other side of the door. The door opens slightly and Sherlock peeps through the door. "What?" he said angrily.

John's surprised when he sees that Sherlock's still in a foul mood, but he holds his ground. "Umm, well, what's wrong, Sherlock?" John asked, gazing into Sherlock's eyes.

In an instant he was undone. Sherlock's lip quivers and he sighs softly. DON'T! Don't let him do this to you, Sherlock thinks. "What do you mean?" he asked coolly.

"Well, you haven't come out of your room since we got back –"

"John, I'm fine," Sherlock responds, closing the door.

"Don't give me that!" John growls back, pushing the door open. He forces himself inside, not waiting for Sherlock to invite him in.

Seeing no other way, Sherlock grits his teeth and closes the door. He turns around and stares at John, who has his arms cross. "Well?" Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, don't you dare give me that!" John retorts. "Don't you dare say you're fine when I can see it's a lie. So, please, _please_, tell me what's wrong."

Sherlock sees plead in John's eyes and sighs. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to think of a good lie. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him!

"It's just…I'm nervous, that's all," Sherlock said.

"You? The man that's crowned apathetic is nervous?" John teased. But when John sees Sherlock's expression falter, he stops. John's smile begins to fade away and he coughs. "What are you nervous of?"

"Mary. Listen, I don't mean to sound like a –"

"I get it," John said.

"You do?" Sherlock asked, quirking a brow.

"Of course, I find it weird as well. Mary pops up where we are getting supplies to rebuild part of the ship. It sounds like a trap," John said. "But, Mary's not like that," John adds. "I've known her for most of my life, and I know her. Mary would never partake in something that'll hurt me. Nor would I do the same. We love each other and I trust her."

Sherlock's heart began to ache at the mention of love. _Stop it. You knew from the beginning that this would never come to happen. John…it was never going to happen. As long as he's the heir to the kingdom, it'd never happen. But, just this once…_

"Sherlock?" John whispered, grasping his arm. "Are you all right?"

Sherlock stares at John, gulping slightly. He nods finally.

"Stop lying to me," John answered.

"What do you want me to say then?" Sherlock snaps back, pushing himself away from John and keeping a distance between the two.

"The truth!" John exclaimed. "Why are you avoiding me? Have I wronged you?"

"Yes, John. Yes, you have!" Sherlock burst out.

"What did I do? Tell me and I'll apologize," John said.

"Why does it matter?" Sherlock questioned, glaring at John. "It doesn't matter, and it's not like my –"

"It matters because I care!" John snapped back, panting heavily from yelling. John tries to calm himself down, knowing the results if he doesn't. "Sherlock, I care. Believe it or not, people actually care about you."

Sherlock closes his mouth before looking away from John.

"Look at me, damn it!" John cries out, grasping Sherlock's shoulders. John bites his bottom lip before he exhales. "What's wrong? Tell me. It's more than Mary, isn't it?"

"Why do you always have to assume it's more than what it is?" Sherlock protests.

"Because you're not looking at me," John answered.

Sherlock balled his hands into fists before he looks at John. "Happy?" he asks hoarsely.

"No, quite the opposite," John replied, sighing softly. One of his hands moves forward and touches Sherlock's cheek. He sees Sherlock shudder as he stroke his cheek.

Sherlock looked the other way, embarrassed. "You seem to be content," Sherlock mumbled.

"Looks can be deceiving," John replies.

Sherlock groans softly before he grasps John's hand, removing it from his cheek. "Why have you come here, John? It's not just because you were checking on my well being," Sherlock muttered.

"You wouldn't happen to have an extra room?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock.

"What's wrong with your room?" Sherlock questioned, quirking a brow.

"Mary doesn't want me to sleep on the same bed with her since we're not married," John replied.

"What? That's the stupidest reason I've ever heard," Sherlock said, strolling off to look for his pipe.

"I know, but I've got to respect her wishes," John answered. "So, is there?"

"Another room? No. You can have someone let you sleep with him or her," Sherlock answered, cleaning his pipe.

John groans softly. "Typical. Well, can I sleep with you?" John asked.

Sherlock stopped filling his pipe and turns around to stare at John. "You do realize I've only got one bed, right?" Sherlock questioned, glancing an eye at John.

John looks at the bed, cheeks scarlet, before he looks back at Sherlock. He nods once more. "I do, and it shouldn't be a problem, right?"

"Well, you tell me," Sherlock said, igniting his pipe. "The first time we met, you refused to sleep with me and were embarrassed by the thought."

John reflected on the thought before he nodded. "I understand. And now that I know you, I don't mind anymore."

Sherlock blew out two rings before he nodded. "Fine."

John watched Sherlock as he smoked, feeling his cheeks burning. "Well, I-I might as well go to sleep. We've got to – errm – finish rebuilding the ship before we can sail off," John said.

Sherlock smirked faintly before he nodded. "Quite right," Sherlock answered. "I'll join you once I finish looking over the map."

Well, this was awkward, John thought as he undid the covers. He lay on his side, stiff from the idea of Sherlock sleeping next to him.

It was as awkward and deafening as John had thought. He hardly got any sleep, especially with Sherlock sleeping beside him. He may feel something for him, but it didn't mean he was sure what they were exactly. He sat on the chair groggily, his head resting against the surface of the table.

Sherlock was in a much better mood, but he knew it wouldn't last. Not with her around. Sherlock sighed as he chewed on his toast silently. He looked over at John who looked practically dead. He knew he was awake the entire time.

"John?" a voice calls out.

And there goes his cheeriness.

John lifts his head slowly as he stared at Mary. "How did you sleep?" he mumbled.

"Better than I expected," Mary answers, sitting beside him.

"That's good, at least one of us slept well," John murmured.

"So, remind me again," Mary began. "Who is he?"

John looks at Sherlock, blushing brightly. "The captain of the Marauders," John answered.

"Wait! This is Mr. Holmes?" she questioned.

"The one and only," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"Wow, I've met your brother Mr. Holmes, and he said a lot about you, but he never said how handsome you are!" Mary exclaimed.

"Well, he doesn't view pirates as beautiful creatures," Sherlock snapped back.

"What made you want to be a pirate, if you don't mind me asking?" Mary asked innocently, smiling a menacing smile.

"I do mind, actually," Sherlock said, pushing back his plate and rushing off.

"Mary," John said, looking at his fiancé.

"What did I do?"

"I saw what you did. Don't provoke him, please. He's the man that saved my life. You should treat him with respect," John answered.

"Treat him with respect?" Mary exclaimed. "He's a bloody pirate! He terrorizes our kingdom, your kingdom, John. And you expect me to treat him with respect. Don't insult me, John."

John sighs softly before looking away.

"All right, so Lestrade, Dimmock, unfortunately Anderson, and John are going with me to get the rest of the supplies," Sherlock announced. "Oh, and I need you Clara. Wait, no. Last time, you almost got us killed by your fight."

"Hey!" Clara exclaimed.

"Wait a minute," Mary announced. "I have to go."

"What? Why?" Sherlock demanded, crossing his arms.

"Because I am not leaving my husband alone!" Mary replied.

Sherlock stared at Mary before he nodded silently. Lestrade noticed the face Sherlock had made and sighed softly. _That poor idiot. Just say it already. _

Sherlock cleared his throat before he glanced at Sally, Clara, and Molly. "I need you two to start preparing everything. We'll be leaving by tomorrow morning. Okay?"

Sally and Molly both nod in understanding.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a quick moment before he walked down the plank. Sherlock had directed Anderson, Lestrade, and Dimmock to buy more wood as he, John, and Mary attended the rest of the supplies.

Sherlock was looking at the ammunition as John and Mary lingered by. Mary looked around, fumbling with her fingers. After watching a few boys pass by, Mary whispers to John, "I'll return quickly, I'm going to buy us some decent food."

John quirks a brow at her, answering, "Let's go t–"

"No, I know where it is," Mary announces. "I'll be back in less than five minutes."

John wavers but he finally submits. "All right, but be quick."

Mary nods before she disappears amongst the crowd.

After a moment, John entered the market and looks around with awe. "Why are there so many weapons here?"

"Black market," Sherlock said simply, a finger on his chin.

"Ah," John answered.

Once the crew finished, they met back on the ship, dumping the supplies on the floor. Molly and Sally had set the sails and were tying the boats back onto the sides of the ship properly.

Sherlock glanced at their work and smiled faintly. "Good work you two," Sherlock praised. "I wouldn't know what to do without you three."

"Yeah, yeah, save us the sweet talk for later," Clara said, stalking off.

"How did we accept her to this crew?" Anderson asked.

"I saved your arses from the Bluebloods," Clara piped in.

"Right," Anderson said.

Mary was at the end of the ship, looking down at the currents.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" John asks, standing beside her.

"If you like the smell that is," Mary adds.

"Come on, Mary. This isn't so bad. It's actually kind of nice," John said, placing a hand on Mary's arm.

"Not so bad? This is nothing like the view we have at the palace, John," Mary countered. "It's so extravagant, John! How could you prefer this over the palace?"

"I know, Mary," John murmured. "But this is freedom."

"Freedom?" Mary questioned. "What do you mean, 'freedom'? How were you not free at the palace? You had so much there and more!"

"Did I really?" John asked, not convinced.

"Of course, John."

"Then I'm the only one who didn't see it."

John's sitting on a chair, sharpening his blade when he hears scuffling. Upon hearing the scuffling, John turns off the lamp and remains silent. As the shuffling of feet grew closer, John reached up and grasped the figure's arm.

"John!" Mary hissed angrily, shoving him aside. "You bloody well scared the hell out of me!"

"Mary, what are you doing?" John questioned. "If I wasn't fooled, it seemed you were sneaking out."

"With you," Mary added.

"What?" John asked. "What are you talking about?"

"John, we have to go. Queen Ebony has sent ships over here," Mary said.

"H-How? She doesn't even know we're here. No one does!"

"I – well – I told her you're here!" Mary answered.

"What? _You what_?" John exclaimed angrily.

"John, I thought you wanted this," Mary replied.

"No, Mary, no. I didn't. I don't," John said. "You should have told me before you told Ebony. _When_ did you tell her?"

"When I said I was going to bring us food," Mary confessed, her voice hoarse. "John, this is the only way I could get you to come with me."

"Mary… No. I don't want to return back to the kingdom. I'm not safe there –"

"And you're safer with a bunch of barbaric pirates?" Mary exclaimed.

"Yes, surprisingly," John confirmed. "And it seems I can _trust_ these barbaric pirates."

Mary's expression faltered as she lowered her head. "John… W-what are you trying to say?" Mary whispered.

"I-I'm saying that you have to go," John said.

"What?" Mary exclaimed.

"Without me."

"John, come with me. Please –"

"I can't. I thought you came here to stay, to be with me –"

"I did. Why else would I stand these filthy pirates?" Mary protested.

John took several steps back, distancing himself from Mary. He shook his head. "No, Mary. That's not what I meant. It's obvious we both have different things that we want," John said hoarsely.

"John, don't do this," Mary answered.

"Mary, you have to go. You can't come with us, so go!" John exclaimed.

"John –"

"Go!"

Tears rolled down Mary's eyes as she nodded her head shakily. She wiped her tears as she walked away from John. She glanced behind her shoulder one last time before she walked down the plank.

John felt tears welling at the ends of his eyes. He looked down at the floor, his nails digging into his sides. A hand lay on John's shoulder, making him look at the figure.

"Sherlock," John murmured.

"We have work to do," Sherlock said. "That is, if we want to leave before Ebony comes."

John averted Sherlock's gaze, embarrassed. He heard the whole thing, didn't he? "Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I-I should've known better!" John managed, tears streaming down his face.

Sherlock stared at John before he closed his eyes. He reaches out to hold John, but he stops himself. He walks away from John, hauling the plank back onboard.

"I knew it!" Sally exclaimed. "I told you, Anderson, didn't I?"

Clara nudged Sally hard, shaking her head at her. "Sally now is not the time to gloat!" Clara scolded.

The sun was beginning to rise when the ship was barely sailing. Sherlock had woken the crew mercilessly and forced them to work in a hurry. John was gazing, watching the city they were staying at disappear within seconds.

"Why?" John answered weakly.

"Because she cared," a voice said, striding up.

John looked up and noticed Sherlock. "She cared?" John scoffed in disbelief. "If she cared, she wouldn't have told Ebony. I had told her before not to. But…she didn't listen."

"She thought she was doing the right thing, John," Sherlock replied. "If you thought the person you cared about was in danger, would you have done the same?"

John was silent for a few moments before he nodded. "Yeah, but –"

"No buts," Sherlock said.

"Why aren't you angry at me?" John asked.

"Why should I be angry at you?" Sherlock questioned, quirking a brow at him.

"Well, because I brought her onboard."

"No reason to punish you for her doing," Sherlock replied. "I can't really hold a grudge on you, you of all people," Sherlock blurted.

"And why is that?" John asked, gazing into Sherlock's eyes.

"Well, because –"

"Captain! They're here," Anderson yelled.

"Already?" Sherlock questioned, turning his attention to Anderson. Sherlock looked out and noticed the ships. "Damn it. Ready the cannons and rifles."

Lestrade and Clara nodded, going downstairs to get the ammunition. Sally, Dimmock, and Anderson were readying the cannons.

"Molly, go downstairs. I can't afford for you to get hurt," Sherlock ordered, taking off his coat.

Molly nodded and disappeared downstairs.

"And…what do you want me to do?" John asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock said.

"What? I can help fight too, Sherlock. I'm not useless," John countered.

"Listen to a captain's orders, John."

"Sher–"

"John, you can't do anything. All Ebony thinks at the moment is that you're a hostage. She doesn't know that you _want_ to stay here. You have to play hostage!" Sherlock snapped back.

John stared at Sherlock in surprise before he nodded his head. "All right, _captain_," John murmured.

An explosion rippled through the air, swishing past Sherlock's ship by a few inches. A cannon ball.

"Captain!" Sally exclaimed.

"On my word," Sherlock said. "It needs to be right."

As the two ships neared each other, Sherlock held an arm up.

"Well, well, Mr. Holmes," a voice said.

"Ebony," Sherlock answered, sneering.

"_Queen_ Ebony," Ebony corrected.

"You're not my queen," Sherlock replied.

"That almost hurt," Ebony said. "Now, hand me my son or you'll have an even more brutal death."

Sherlock chuckled before he wrapped an arm around John's neck, pulling him closer to him. "Johnny here is _not_ your son, Ebony. Don't insult him."

Ebony's smirk faded instantly when Sherlock grabbed John. "Let him go you filthy piece of scum!"

"What? I'll contaminate him?" Sherlock questioned, tightening his grip on John.

"Ow, Sherlock!" John hissed into his ear.

"Play the part, John," Sherlock whispered.

John tried to remove himself from Sherlock, but he placed a knife against his neck. "Stop!" John yelled, pretending to squirm.

"Don't you dare!" Ebony demanded.

"Let us go or else!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Or what?" Ebony questioned.

"Don't tempt a desperate man."

"Fine!" Ebony replied. "Lower your arms," she told her men. They hesitated before they obeyed, lowering their guns.

"Plank," Sherlock said to Anderson.

Anderson nodded as he connected the two ships with the plank.

"Now, Johnny here will go with you pompous lot and you'll leave us be," Sherlock murmured, pushing John forward.

"Sherlock," John whispered.

"Play," Sherlock said.

John gulped down as he walked onto the plank with Sherlock still holding the knife against his neck. Once they boarded Ebony's ship, Sherlock ordered Anderson to remove the plank.

"Clara, get the ship out of here!" Sherlock ordered.

"You're trap here, Mr. Holmes," Ebony murmured deviously.

"Are you sure about that?"

"And how do you think you're safe?"

"Because I've got Johnny here with me," Sherlock said.

"I'll have them shoot you."

"I'm very good with a sword. Do you really want to risk that?" Sherlock countered, smirking.

He pulled John's hair, making him wince.

"Stop it!" John hissed angrily.

"One last time, Mr. Holmes. Let my son go!" Ebony replied angrily.

"Or…what…?" Sherlock answered, forcing John backwards with him.

"So God help me, if you don't let him go, I'll –"

"Here you go!" Sherlock exclaimed, pushing John forward.

Sherlock jabbed the sword against a rope he grabbed, pulling him up into the air. John had crashed into Ebony, who wrapped her arms around him. The chillness from her touch chilled John instantly. He shuddered.

"Get him!" Ebony barked, when Sherlock began cutting away at the ropes. The sails were falling apart from the lack of support, slowing the ship.

Bullets were shot through the air, hitting all but Sherlock. Sherlock cut away at the shroud that was holding one of the pillars and down came the pillar onto the men. They scattered about like mice the moment they saw the pillar crashing down. Sherlock landed safely onto the forecastle deck, chuckling at the ruckus he had made.

He searched for John, but the next thing he knew, a shot was fired. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprised. He noticed Ebony holding a pistol in midair. He looked down at himself and noticed he was bleeding. Where? Sherlock grunted in pain as he clasped his stomach. With realizing it, Sherlock stumbled backwards. He lost his balance and fell overboard.

John's eyes widened in horror. "No!" John cried out. John pushed back Ebony, who was stunned by what he was doing, and, without hesitation, jumped overboard. The water that was filling his lungs suffocated John. He burst through the surface of the water, breathing deeply.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" John cried out, looking for him. He must be drowning. John breathed in deeply before he returned below once more. He took a moment to adjust his eyes to the water before he searched for Sherlock.

John found Sherlock after a few seconds; apparently, hitting the ocean had left him drowsy. John reached forward to grasp Sherlock's hand, but he needed air. John reached the surface once more, and returned back down. This time, he grasped Sherlock's wrist and hauled him up.

"Sher-Sherlock!" John panted heavily, trying to regain his lost breath. "Sherlock, please, I can't take you to the ship alone." John shook Sherlock, trying to rouse his attention.

Sherlock opened an eye, coughing violently. "Sherlock!" John exclaimed, moving part of his hair away from his eye. "Come on."

"Where are they?" Clara murmured, rubbing her fingers. "Maybe we should turn back!"

"No!" Dimmock said. "We heard our captain's orders. He'll be fine! He has to be."

"What if they're in danger?" Lestrade asked.

Anderson was in the watchtower, looking out for Sherlock and John. He spotted them and slid down. "Come on, they're alive. They need help!" Anderson exclaimed, rushing towards the edge of the ship.

A few minutes later, they hauled Sherlock and John onboard. John was coughing violently, having swallowed the salty ocean. The crew crowded around them, trying to see what was wrong.

"Give them some air!" Lestrade demanded.

The crew took a few steps back, giving the two some room. John panted heavily, before he remembered Sherlock. "Sherlock!" John exclaimed, touching Sherlock's face.

Sherlock's eyes were closed. He was probably drained from swimming, but he was bleeding. After John shook Sherlock, there was no sign from him. John's eyes widened in horror. "Sherlock!" John cried, feeling for a pulse. "No! You can't do this to me, you selfish bastard!" John exclaimed, feeling the ends of his already red eyes well up. "Sherlock!"

John pressed his hands together and pushed onto Sherlock's chest repeatedly before he withdrew. He felt his pulse. John repeated the process, but when nothing happened, John leaned in and pressed his lips against Sherlock's.

Dimmock quirked a brow. "What are you –?"

Sherlock's eyes fluttered opened as he spat out water. He coughed violently as he sat upwards, trying to breathe. John wiped his cheek since Sherlock spat at him. He punched Sherlock's shoulder angrily.

"Hey!" Sherlock exclaimed. "What the hell was that for?"

"You scared the hell out of me!" John snapped back.

Sherlock noticed the tears rolling down John's eyes and quirked a brow. Sherlock touched John's cheek. "Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head slowly. "I'm not crying!" John snapped back. "It's the water, you git."

Liar. Sherlock smiled faintly before he nodded. "Well, I owe you my life, John. Whatever you need, whatever it is, don't hesitate to ask me."

John nodded his head slowly.

Two weeks later, John was sitting in his room, fumbling with his fingers. He was nervous, really nervous. Should he really ask Sherlock to do such a thing? But then again, it's obvious by now, isn't it? John sat on his bed, dumbfounded with what he should do. But, it has to be Sherlock. No, more importantly, John wants it to be Sherlock.

John rose from his bed and walked out of the room. He closed it gently as he silently crept out of the room. It was night and everyone had gone off to sleep. Well, John knew for sure Sherlock would be awake.

John stood still, staring at the door in front of him. John hesitated before he knocked on the door gently. For a second, John thought Sherlock hadn't heard him. But before he could knock again, Sherlock had opened the door.

"John?" Sherlock questioned, opening the door for him to enter. "Why are you still up? What's wrong?"

John shook his head silently before he made his way inside the room. He stopped midway and turned to stare at Sherlock. "Sherlock, can you please do me a favor?" John asked?

"A favor? I'll see if I can try," Sherlock said.

"Oh, no, you will be able to do this," John answered, biting his bottom lip in embarrassment. "Errm…"

"John? What is it?" Sherlock questioned, taking a few steps closer to him.

"You will do it, right?" John asked. "What I want?"

"Well, of course I would. I owe you my life, remember?"

"It's just… Okay, Sherlock, promise me that – what I'm about to ask you next –you won't ask questions and you'll do it."

"John…?" Sherlock said, quirking a brow. "Are you all right?"

"Promise me, Sherlock."

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. "Uh…fine. I promise, John. Now, tell me what you want."

"You."


	8. Read

Not the next chapter of _A Study Overseas_, I know. I'm so sorry, but I have the hugest writer's block at the moment. And I've got bits and pieces of what I'm going to write in the chapter, but it'll wouldn't necessarily fit.

So, in short,_ A Study Overseas_ is in temporary hiatus. I'm so sorry. I apologize sincerely.


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